BEULAH 


FAMOUS 
FICTION 
LIBRARY 


Famous  Fiction   Library 


SECTION  ONE 


A  new  series  of  novels,  which  will  contain  the  great  books  of  the 
greatest  novelists,  in  distinctively  good-looking,  cloth-bound  volumes, 
with  attractive  new  features. 

Size,  five  by  seven  and  a  quarter  inches ;  in  roman,  printed  from 
new  plates,  and  bound  in  cloth.  The  price  is  half  of  the  lowest 
price  at  which  cloth-bound  novels  have  been  sold  heretofore,  and 
the  books  are  better  than  many  of  the  higher-priced  editions. 


9. 
10. 
11. 
12. 


Aikenside 

Dora  Deane 

Lena  Rivera 

Beulah 

Inez 

The  Baronet's  Bride    .     . 

Who  Wins  ? 

Staunch  as  a  Woman  .  . 
Led  by  Love  .... 
Cast  Up  by  the  Tide  .  . 
Golden  Gates  .... 
Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar  Room 


By  Mary  J.  Holmes 
'  Mary  J.  Holmes 
Mary  J.  Holmes 
'  Augusta  J.  Evans 
Augusta  J.  Evans 
Agnes  May  Fleming 
Agnes  May  Fleming 
Charles  Garvice 
Charles  Garvice 
Dora  Delmar 
Bertha  M.  Clay 
'  T.  S.  Arthur 


SECTION  TWO 


13.  Faith  Gartney's  Girlhood 

14.  Soldiers  Three    .... 

15.  The  Light  That  Failed      . 

16.  Daddy's  Girl      .... 

17.  The  Rifle  Rangers  .     .     . 

18.  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast 

19.  Great  Expectations,  Vol.  1. 

20.  "  "  Vol.2. 

21.  Ishmael,  Vol.  1 

22         "       Vol  2 

23.  Self-Raised,  Vol.  1. 

24.  "        "       Vol.2. 


By  A.  D.  T.  Whitney 
"  Rudyard  Kipling 
"  Rudyard  Kipling 
"  L.  T.  Meade 
"  Mayne  Reid 
"  R.  H.  Dana 
"  Charles  Dickens 

"  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 


E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 


Other  books  of  the  same  high  class  will  follow  these  until  the 
Library  contains  one  hundred  titles. 

ASK  FOR  THE  N.  Y.  BOOK  Co. '3  FAMOUS  FICTION  BOOKS. 


THE  NEW  YORK   BOOK  COMPANY,  PUBLISHED 
147  FOURTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK,  N.  Y. 


B  E  U  L  A  H 


AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS 

Author  of  "At  the  Mercy  of  Tiberius, 
"St.  Elmo,"  "Macaria," 
"Inez,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  NEW  YORK  BOOK  COMPANY 
1909 


BIOGRAPHY  AND  BIBLIOGRAPHY 


AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS  (Wilson),  American  novelist, 
was  born  in  Columbus,  Ga.,  May  8,  1835,  lived  at 
San  Antonio  in  the  midst  of  the  Texans'  struggles  for 
independence  and  the  subsequent  Mexican  War  and 
later  at  Mobile,  Ala.,  where  she  married  L.  M.  Wilson  in 
1868. 

Her  books  are  more  massive  in  conception  than  those 
of  any  other  American  woman  novelist  and  achieved  j 
instant  popularity  which  still  endures.  Following  the 
publication  of  Inez  in  1856,  she  brought  out,  in  1859, 
Beulah  which  met  instantaneous  success  and  has  run 
through  many  editions.  Her  devotion  to  the  Con- 
federacy is  pictured  in  Macaria  (1863)  dedicated  To  the 
Brave  Soldiers  of  the  Southern  Army.  This  novel, 
although  seized  and  destroyed  by  a  Federal  officer  in 
Kentucky,  was  later  brought  out  in  the  North  where 
it  has  found  a  large  sale.  Lapse  of  time  has  served  but 
to  increase  this  novelist's  vogue  and  in  recent  years, 
although  living  in  affluence,  she  has  yielded  to  repeated 
requests  of  admirers  and  written  again. 

Other  of  Mrs.  Evans-Wilson's  novels  are:  St.  Elmo 
(1866),  one  of  her  most  famous  works;  Vashti:  or, 
Until  Death  Us  Do  Part  (1867);  Infelice  (1876);  At  the 
Mercy  of  Tiberius  (1887);  A  Speckled  Bird  (1902);  and 
Devota  (1907). 


To  MY  AUNT 
MRS.  SEABORN  JONES 

OF  GEORGIA 

I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK 

As  A  FEEBLE  TRIBUTE  OF  AFFECTION 

AND  GRATITUDE 


2088 


^ 


"A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned; 
To  warn,  to  counsel,  to  command, 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 
Prudence,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill." 

— WORDSWORTH. 


BEULAH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  JANUARY  sun  had  passed  the  zenith,  and  the  slanting  rays 
flamed  over  the  window  panes  of  a  large  brick  building,  bear- 
ing on  its  front  in  golden  letters  the  inscription,  "  Orphan 
Asylum."  The  structure  was  commodious,  and  surrounded  by 
wide  galleries,  while  the  situation  offered  a  silent  tribute  to 
the  discretion  and  good  sense  of  the  board  of  managers.  The 
front  door  was  closed,  but  upon  the  broad  granite  steps,  where 
the  sunlight  lay  warm  and  tempting,  sat  a  trio  of  the  inmates. 
In  the  foreground  was  a  slight,  fairy  form,  "  a  wee,  winsome 
thing,"  with  coral  lips,  and  large,  soft  blue  eyes,  set  in  a  frame 
of  short,  clustering  golden  curls.  She  looked  about  six  years 
old,  and  was  clad,  like  her  companions,  in  canary-colored  flan- 
nel dress  and  blue-check  apron.  Lillian  was  the  pet  of  the 
asylum,  and  now  her  rosy  cheek  rested  upon  her  tiny  white 
palm,  as  though  she  wearied  of  the  picture  book  which  lay 
at  her  feet.  The  figure  beside  her  was  one  whose  marvelous 
beauty  riveted  the  gaze  of  all  who  chanced  to  see  her.  The 
child  could  have  been  but  a  few  months  older  than  Lillian, 
yet  the  brilliant  black  eyes,  the  peculiar  curve  of  the  dimpled 
mouth,  and  long,  dark  ringlets  gave  to  the  oval  face  a  maturer 
and  more  piquant  loveliness.  The  cast  of  Claudia's  counte- 
nance bespoke  her  foreign  parentage,  and  told  of  the  warm, 
fierce  Italian  blood  that  glowed  in  her  cheeks.  On  the  upper 
step,  in  the  rear  of  these  two,  sat  a  girl  whose  age  could  not 
have  been  very  accurately  guessed  from  her  countenance.  At 
a  first,  casual  glance,  one  thought  Beulah  rather  homely,  nay, 
decidedly  ugly;  yet,  to  the  curious  physiognomist,  this  face 
presented  greater  attractions  than  either  of  the  others.  A  pair 
of  large  gray  eyes  set  beneath  an  overhanging  forehead,  a 
boldly  projecting  forehead,  broad  and  smooth;  a  rather  large, 
but  finely  cut  mouth,  an  irreproachable  nose,  of  the  order 
farthest  removed  from  aquiline,  and  heavy,  black  eyebrows, 
which,  instead  of  arching,  stretched  straight  across  and  nearly 
met. 

"What  is  to-day?  Let  me  see,  Wednesday;  yes,  this  is  the 
evening  for  the  ladies  to  meet  here.  Lil,  is  my  face  right 

1 


2  BEULAH. 

clean?  because  that  red-headed  Miss  Dorothy  always  takes 
particular  pains  to  look  at  it.  I  do  hate  her,  don't  you?  "  cried 
Claudia. 

"  Why,  Claudy,  I  am  astonished  to  hear  you  talk  so.  Miss 
Dorothy  helps  to  buy  food  and  clothes  for  us,  and  you  ought 
to  be  ashamed  to  speak  of  her  as  you  do."  As  she  delivered 
this  reprimand,  Beulah  snatched  up  a  small  volume  and  hid 
it  in  her  workbasket. 

"I  don't  believe  she  gives  us  much.  I  do  hate  her,  and  . 
can't  help  it,  she  is  so  ugly,  and  cross,  and  vinegar  faced, 
should  not  like  her  to  look  at  my  mug  of  milk.  You  don't 
love  her  either,  any  more  than  I  do,  only  you  won't  say  any- 
thing about  her.  But  kiss  me,  and  I  promise  I  will  be  good, 
and  not  make  faces  at  her  in  my  apron."  Beulah  stooped 
down  and  warmly  kissed  the  suppliant,  then  took  her  little 
sister's  hand  and  led  her  into  the  house,  just  as  the  carriage 
reached  the  door.  The  weekly  visiting  committee  consisted  of 
four  of  the  lady  managers,  but  to-day  the  number  was  swelled 
to  six.  A  glance  at  the  inspectors  sufficed  to  inform  Beulah 
that  something  of  more  than  ordinary  interest  had  convened 
them  on  the  present  occasion,  and  she  was  passing  on  to  her 
accustomed  place,  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  familiar  face, 
partially  concealed  by  a  straw  bonnet.  It  was  her  Sabbath- 
school  teacher;  a  sudden,  glad  light  flashed  over  the  girl's 
countenance,  and  the  pale  lips  disclosed  a  set  of  faultlessly 
beautiful  teeth,  as  she  smiled  and  hastened  to  her  friend. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Mason?    I  am  so  glad  to  see  youP 

"  Thank  you,  Beulah ;  I  have  been  promising  myself  this 
pleasure  a  great  while.  I  saw  Eugene  this  morning,  and  I  told 
him  I  was  coming  out.  He  sent  you  a  book  and  a  message. 
Here  is  the  book.  You  are  to  mark  the  passages  you  like 
particularly,  and  study  them  well  until  he  comes.  When  did 
you  see  him  last  ?  " 

Mrs.  Mason  put  the  volume  in  her  hand  as  she  spoke. 

"It  has  been  more  than  a  week  since  he  was  here,  and  I 
was  afraid  he  was  sick.  He  is  very  kind  and  good  to  remem- 
,  ber  the  book  he  promised  me,  and  I  thank  you  very  much, 
Mrs.  Mason,  for  bringing  it."  The  face  was  radiant  with 
new-born  joy,  but  it  all  died  out  when  Miss  Dorothea  White 
(little  Claudia's  particular  aversion)  fixed  her  pale-blue  eyes 
upon  her,  and  asked,  in  a  sharp,  discontented  tone: 

"What  ails  that  girl,  Mrs.  Williams?  She  does  not  work 
enough,  or  she  would  have  some  blood  in  her  cheeks.  Has  she 
been  sick  ? " 

"No,  madam,  she  has  not  been  sick  exactly,  but  somehow 
she  never  looks  strong  and  hearty  like  the  others.  ^  She  works 
well  enough.  There  is  not  a  better  or  more  industrious  girl  in 
the  asylum,  but  I  rather  think  she  studies  too  much.  I  have 


BEULAH.  3 

always  hoped  the  managers  would  conclude  to  educate  her  for 
a  teacher.  She  is  so  studious,  I  know  she  would  learn  very 
rapidly. 

"  My  dear  madam,  you  do  not  in  the  least  understand  what 
you  are  talking"  about.  It  would  require  at  least  five  years' 
careful  training  to  fit  her  to  teach,  and  our  finances  do  not 
admit  of  any  such  expenditure." 

"  How  is  the  babe  that  was  brought  here  last  week  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Taylor. 

"'  Oh,  he  is  doing  beautifully.  Bring  him  round  the  table, 
Susan,"  and  the  rosy,  smiling  infant  was  handed  about  for 
closer  inspection.  A  few  general  inquiries  followed,  and  then 
Beulah  was  not  surprised  to  hear  the  order  given  for  the  chil- 
dren to  retire,  as  the  managers  had  some  especial  business 
with  their  matron.  The  orphan  band  defiled  into  the  hall,  and 
dispersed  to  their  various  occupations,  but  Beulah  approached 
the  matron,  and  whispered  something,  to  which  the  reply  was : 

"  No ;  if  you  have  finished  that  other  apron,  you  shall  sew 
no  more  to-day.  You  can  pump  a  fresh  bucket  of  water,  and 
then  run  out  into  the  yard  for  some  air." 

In  the  debating  room  of  the  visiting  committee,  Miss  White 
again  had  the  floor.  She  was  no  less  important  a  personage 
than  vice  president  of  the  board  of  managers,  and  felt  au- 
thorized to  investigate  closely,  and  redress  all  grievances. 

"  Who  did  you  say  sent  that  book  here,  Mrs.  Mason  ? " 

"  Eugene  Rutland,  who  was  once  a  member  of  Mrs.  Will- 
iam's orphan  charge  in  this  asylum.  Mr.  Graham  adopted 
him,  and  he  is  now  known  as  Eugene  Graham.  He  is  very 
much  attached  to  Beulah,  though  I  believe  they  are  not  at 
all  related." 

"  He  left  the  asylum  before  I  entered  the  board.  What  sort 
of  boy  is  he?  I  have  seen  him  several  times,  and  do  not  par- 
ticularly fancy  him." 

"  Oh,  madam,  he  is  a  noble  boy !  It  was  a  great  trial  to  me 
to  part  with  him  three  years  ago.  He  is  much  older  than 
Beulah,  and  loves  her  as  well  as  if  she  were  his  sister." 

"  I  suppose  he  has  put  this  notion  of  being  a  teacher  into 
her  head;  well,  she  must  get  it  out,  that  is  all.  I  know  of  an 
excellent  situation,  where  a  lady  is  willing  to  pay  six  dollars 
a  month  for  a  girl  of  her  age  to  attend  to  an  infant,  and  I 
think  we  must  secure  it  for  her." 

"  Oh,  Miss  White !  she  is  not  able  to  carry  a  heavy  child 
always  in  her  arms,"  expostulated  Mrs.  Williams. 

"  Yes,  she  is.  I  will  venture  to  say  she  will  look  all  the 
better  for  it  at  the  month's  end." 

The  last  sentence,  fraught  with  interest  to  herself,  fell  upon 
Beulah's  ear,  as  she  passed  through  the  hall,  and  an  unerring 
intuition  told  her  "  you  are  the  one."  She  put  her  hands  over 


4  BEULAH. 

her  ears  to  shut  out  Miss  Dorothea's  sharp  tones,  and  hurried 
away,  with  a  dim  foreboding  of  coming  evil. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  following  day,  in  obedience  to  the  proclamation  of  the 
mayor  of  the  city,  was  celebrated  as  a  season  of  special  thanks- 
giving, and  the  inmates  of  the  asylum  were  taken  to  church 
to  morning  service.  After  an  early  dinner,  the  matron  gave 
them  permission  to  amuse  themselves  the  remainder  of  the 
day  as  their  various  inclinations  prompted.  There  was  an 
immediate  dispersion  of  the  assemblage,  and  only  Beulah  lin- 
gered beside  the  matron's  chair. 

"  Mrs.  Williams,  may  I  take  Lilly  with  me,  and  go  out  into 
the  woods  at  the  back  of  the  asylum  ? " 

"  I  want  you  at  home  this  evening,  but  I  dislike  very  much 
to  refuse  you." 

"  Oh,  never  mind,  if  you  wish  me  to  do  anything." 

Tears  rolled  over  the  matron's  face,  and  hastily  averting 
her  head,  she  wiped  them  away  with  the  comer  of  her  apron. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  to  help  you  ?    What  is  the  matter  ? " 

"  Never  mind,  Beulah ;  do  you  get  your  bonnet  and  go  to  the 
edge  of  the  woods — not  too  far,  remember;  and  if  I  must  have 
you,  why  I  will  send  for  you." 

"  I  would  rather  not  go  if  it  will  be  any  trouble." 

"  No,  dear,  it's  no  trouble ;  I  want  you  to  go,"  answered 
the  matron,  turning  hastily  away.  Beulah  felt  very  strongly 
inclined  to  follow,  and  inquire  what  was  in  store  for  her;  but 
the  weight  on  her  heart  pressed  more  heavily,  and  murmur- 
ing to  herself,  "It  will  come  time  enough,  time  enough,"  she 
passed  on. 

"May  I  come  with  you  and  Lilly?"  entreated  little  Claudia. 

"  Yes,  come  on.  You  and  Lilly  can  pick  up  some  nice, 
smooth  burs  to  make  baskets  of." 

The  path  along  which  their  feet  pattered  so  carelessly  led 
to  a  hollow,  or  ravine,  and  the  ground  on  the  opposite  side  rose 
into  small  hillocks,  thickly  wooded  with  pines.  Beulah  sat 
down  upon  a  mound  of  moss  and  leaves;  while  Claudia  and 
Lillian,  throwing  off  their  hoods,  commenced  the  glorious  game 
of  sliding.  Apart  from  all  this  sat  Beulah.  An  open  volume 
lay  on  her  lap;  it  was  Longfellow's  Poems,  the  book  Eugene 
had  sent  her,  and  leaves  were  turned  down  at  "  Excelsior,"  and 
the  "Psalm  of  Life."  There  was  an  uplifted  look,  a  brave, 
glad,  hopeful  light  in  the  gray  eyes,  generally  so  troubled  in 
their  expression.  A  sacred  song  rose  on  the  evening  air,  a 
solemn,  but  beautiful  hymn.  She  sang  the  words  of  the  great, 
strength-giving  poet,  the  "Psalm  of  Life." 


BEULAH.  5 

She  was  startled  by  the  sharp  bark  of  a  dog,  and,  looking 
up,  saw  a  gentleman  leaning  against  a  neighboring  tree,  and 
regarding  her  very  earnestly.  He  came  forward  as  she  per- 
ceived him,  and  said,  with  a  pleasant  smile : 

"You  need  not  be  afraid  of  my  dog.  Like  his  master,  he 
would  not  disturb  you  till  you  finished  your  song.  My  little 
friend,  tell  me  who  taught  you  to  sing?" 

She  had  hastily  risen,  and  a  slight  glow  tinged  her  cheek  at 
his  question.  Though  naturally  reserved  and  timid,  there  was 
a  self-possession  about  her  unusual  in  children  of  her  age, 
and  she  answered,  in  a  low  voice :  "  I  have  never  had  a  teacher, 
sir ;  but  I  listen  to  the  choir  on  Sabbath,  and  sing  our  Sunday- 
school  hymns  at  church." 

"Do  you  know  who  wrote  those  words  you  sang  just  now? 
I  was  not  aware  they  had  been  set  to  music ! " 

"  I  found  them  in  this  book  yesterday,  and  liked  them 
so  much  that  I  tried  to  sing  them  by  one  of  our  hymn 
tunes." 

Beulah  chanced  just  then  to  turn  toward  the  asylum,  and 
saw  one  of  the  older  girls  running  across  the  common.  The 
shadow  on  her  face  deepened,  and  she  looked  around  for 
Claudia  and  Lillian. 

"  Come,  Claudy — Lilly— our  matron  has  sent  for  us." 

"  Do  you  belong  to  the  asylum  ? "  asked  the  gentleman. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  she,  and  as  the  children  came  up  she 
bowed  and  turned  homeward. 

"  Wait  a  moment ;  those  are  not  your  sisters,  certainly  ? " 
His  eyes  rested  with  admiration  on  their  beautiful  faces. 

"  This  one  is,  sir ;  that  is  not."  As  she  spoke,  she  laid  her 
hand  on  Lillian's  head.  Claudia  looked  shyly  at  the  stranger, 
and  then  seizing  Beulah's  dress,  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  Beulah,  don't  let  us  go  just  yet!" 

"Yes,  we  must  go;  yonder  comes  Katy  for  us." 

"  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  carriage ! "  cried  Claudia,  as  they 
approached  the  door,  and  descried  an  elegant  carriage,  glitter- 
ing with  silver  mountings,  and  drawn  by  a  pair  of  spirited 
black  horses. 

"Yes,  that  it  is,  and  there  is  a  lady  and  gentleman  here 
who  must  be  very  rich,  judging  from  their  looks.  They 
brought  Miss  White." 

"  Here,  Beulah,  bring  them  to  the  dormitory,"  said  Mrs. 
Williams,  hurrying  them  upstairs.  She  hastily  washed 
Claudia's  face  and  recurled  her  hair,  while  the  same  offices 
were  performed  for  Lillian  by  her  sister. 

"What  does  all  this  mean?"  said  Beulah,  taking  her  sister's 
hand. 

"  Don't  ask  me,  poor  child."  As  she  spoke,  the  good  woman 
ushered  the  trio  into  the  reception-room. 


§  BEULAH. 

Miss  White  was  eagerly  talking  to  a  richly-dressed  and  very 
pretty  woman,  while  a  gentleman  stood  beside  them,  impa- 
tiently twirling  his  seal  and  watch  key. 

All  looked  up,  and  Miss  White  exclaimed: 

"Here  they  are;  now,  my  dear  Mrs.  Grayson,  I  rather  think 
you  can  be  suited.  Come  here,  little  ones."  She  drew  Claudia 
to  her  side,  while  Lilly  clung  closer  to  her  sister. 

"  Oh,  what  beauties !  Only  look  at  them,  Alfred ! "  Mrs. 
Grayson  glanced  eagerly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Very  pretty  children,  indeed,  my  dear.  Extremely  pretty ; 
particularly  the  black-eyed  one." 

"I  don't  know;  I  believe  I  admire  the  golden-haired  one 
most.  She  is  a  perfect  fairy.  Come  here,  my  love,  and  let 
me  talk  to  you,"  continued  she,  addressing  Lilly.  The  child 
clasped  her  sister's  fingers,  and  did  not  advance  an  inch. 

"  Do  not  hold  her,  Beulah.  Come  to  the  lady,  Lillian,"  said 
Miss  White.  As  Beulah  gently  disengaged  her  hand,  she  felt 
as  if  the  anchor  of  hope  had  been  torn  from  her  hold,  but, 
stooping  down,  she  whispered: 

"Go  to  the  lady,  Lilly  darling;  I  will  not  leave  you." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  little  figure  moved  slowly  forward,  and 
paused  in  front  of  the  stranger.  Mrs.  Grayson  took  her  small, 
white  hands  tenderly,  and  pressing  a  warm  kiss  on  her  lips, 
said,  in  a  kind,  winning  tone: 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Lillian,  ma'am,  but  sister  calls  me  Lilly." 

"Who  is  '  sister  '—little  Claudia  here?" 

"  Oh,  no !  sister  Beulah."  And  the  soft,  blue  eyes  turned 
lovingly  toward  that  gentle  sister. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Alfred,  how  totally  unlike !  This  is  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  children  I  have  ever  seen,  and  that  girl 
yonder  is  ugly,"  said  the  lady,  in  an  undertone  to  her  hus- 
band, who  was  talking  to  Claudia.  It  was  said  in  a  low  voice, 
but  Beulah  heard  every  syllable,  and  a  glow  of  shame,  for  an 
instant,  bathed  her  brow.  Claudia  heard  it,  too,  and  spring- 
ing from  Mr.  Grayson's  knee,  she  exclaimed,  angrily : 

"  She  isn't  ugly ;  she  is  the  smartest  girl  in  the  asylum,  and 
I  love  her  better  than  anybody  in  the  world." 

"  Fanny,  if  you  select  that  plain-spoken  little  one,  you  will 
have  some  temper  to  curb,"  suggested  Mr.  Grayson. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  husband,  I  must  have  them  both ;  only  fancy 
how  lovely  they  will  be,  dressed  exactly  alike.  My  little  Lilly, 
and  you,  Claudia,  will  you  come  and  be  my  daughters?  I 
shall  love  you  very  much,  and  that  gentleman  will  be  your 
papa.  He  is  very  kind.  You  shall  have  big  wax  dolls,  as  high 
as  your  heads,  and  doll-houses,  and  tea-sets,  and  beautiful 
blue  and  pink  silk  dresses,  and  every  evening  I  shall  take  you 
out  to  ride  in  my  carriage.  Each  of  you  shall  have  a  white 


BEULAH.  7 

bat,  with  long,  curling  feathers.  Will  you  come  and  live  with 
me,  and  let  me  be  your  mamma  ? " 

Beulah's  face  assumed  an  ashen  hue,  as  she  listened  to  these 
coaxing  words.  She  had  not  thought  of  separation;  the  evil 
had  never  presented  itself  in  this  form,  and,  staggering  for- 
ward, she  clutched  the  matron's  dress,  saying,  hoarsely: 

"  Oh,  don't  separate  us !  Don't  let  them  take  Lilly  from 
me!  I  will  do  anything  on  earth;  I  will  work  my  hands  off; 
oh,  do  anything,  but  please  don't  give  Lilly  up ! " 

Claudia  here  interrupted: 

"I  should  like  to  go  well  enough,  if  you  will  take  Beulah, 
too.  Lil,  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  No,  no."  Lillian  broke  away  from  the  stranger's  clasp- 
ing arm,  and  rushed  toward  her  sister;  but  Miss  White  sat  be- 
tween them,  and,  catching  the  child,  she  firmly,  though  very 
gently,  held  her  back.  Lilly  was  very  much  afraid  of  her,  and 
bursting  into  tears,  she  cried,  imploringly: 

"  Oh,  sister !  take  me,  take  me !  " 

Beulah  sprang  to  her  side,  and  stood  trembling  like  a  weed 
bowed  before  the  rushing  gale.  She  knew  that  neither  expos- 
tulation nor  entreaty  would  avail  now,  and  she  resolved  to  bear 
with  fortitude  what  she  could  not  avert.  Lifting  her  head, 
she  said,  slowly: 

"If  I  must  give  up  my  sister,  let  me  do  so  as  quietly  as 
possible.  Give  her  to  me;  then  perhaps  she  will  go  more  will- 
ingly. Do  not  force  her  away !  Oh,  do  not  force  her !  " 

As  she  uttered  these  words,  her  lips  were  white  and  cold, 
and  the  agonized  expression  of  her  face  made  Mrs.  Grayson 
shiver. 

"  Lilly,  my  darling !  My  own  precious  darling !  "  She  bent 
over  her  sister,  and  the  little  arms  clasped  her  neck  tightly, 
as  she  lifted  and  bore  her  back  to  the  dormitory. 

Beulah  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  blue-curtained  bed,  and 
drew  her  idol  close  to  her  heart.  She  kissed  the  beautiful  face, 
and  smoothed  the  golden  curls  she  had  so  long,  and  so  lov- 
ingly arranged,  and  as  the  child  returned  her  kisses,  she  felt 
as  if  rude  hands  were  tearing  her  heartstrings  loose. 

Soon  the  matron  entered,  with  a  large  bundle  neatly 
wrapped.  Her  eyes  were  red,  and  there  were  traces  of  tears 
on  her  cheek.  Looking  tenderly  down  upon  the  trio,  she 
said: 

"  Come,  my  pets,  they  will-  not  wait  any  longer  for  you.  I 
hope  you  will  try  to  be  good,  and  love  each  other,  and  Beulah 
shall  come  to  see  you."  She  took  Claudia's  hand  and  led  her 
down  the  steps.  Beulah  lifted  her  sister,  and  carried  her  in 
her  arms,  as  she  had  from  her  birth,  and  at  every  step  kissed 
her  lips  and  brow. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  were  standing  at  the  front  door;  they 


g  BEULAH. 

both  looked  pleased,  as  Lilly  had  ceased  crying,  and  the  car- 
riage door  was  opened  to  admit  them. 

Beulah  drew  near  to  Mrs.  Grayson,  and  said,  in  a  low,  but 
imploring  tone: 

"  Oh,  madam,  love  my  sister,  and  always  speak  affectionately 
to  her ;  then  she  will  be  good  and  obedient.  I  may  come  to  see 
her  often,  may  I  not?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  lady,  in  a  tone  which  chilled  poor 
"Beulah's  heart.  She  swallowed  a  groan  of  agony,  and,  strain- 
ing the  loved  one  to  her  bosom,  pressed  her  lips  to  Lilly's. 

"  God  bless  my  little  sister,  my  darling,  my  all ! "  She  put 
the  child  in  Mr.  Grayson's  extended  arms,  and  only  saw  that 
her  sister  looked  back  appealingly  to  her.  Miss  White  came 
up  and  said  something  which  she  did  not  hear,  and,  turning 
hastily  away,  she  went  up  to  the  dormitory  and  seated  herself 
on  Lilly's  vacant  bed.  The  child  knew  not  how  the  hours 
passed;  she  sat  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  until  the 
light  of  a  candle  flashed  into  the  darkened  chamber,  and  the 
kind  voice  of  the  matron  fell  on  her  ear. 

"  Poor  child,  I  would  have  saved  you  all  this  had  it  been 
in  my  power;  but,  when  once  decided  by  the  managers,  you 
know  I  could  not  interfere.  The  managers  think  it  is  best 
that  you  should  go  out  and  take  a  situation.  I  am  sorry  I  am 
forced  to  give  you  up — very  sorry — for  you  have  always  been 
a  good  girl,  and  I  love  you  dearly.  You  are  to  take  care  of 
an  infant,  and  they  will  give  you  six  dollars  a  month  besides 
your  board  and  clothes.  Try  to  do  your  duty,  child,  and  per- 
haps something  may  happen  which  will  enable  you  to  turn 
teacher." 

"Well,  I  will  do  the  best  I  can.  I  do  not  mind  work,  but 
then  Lilly." 

Again  the  light  streamed  into  the  room.  She  buried  her 
face  deeper  in  her  apron. 

"  Beulah,"  said  a  troubled,  anxious  voice. 

"  Oh,  Eugene ! "  She  sprang  up  with  a  dry  sob,  and  threw 
herself  into  his  arms. 

"I  know  it  all,  dear  Beulah;  but  come  down  to  Mrs.  Will- 
iams' room,  there  is  a  bright  fire  there,  and  your  hands  are 
as  cold  as  ice.  You  will  make  yourself  sick  sitting  here  with- 
out even  a  shawl  around  you."  He  led  her  downstairs  to  the 
room  occupied  by  the  matron,  who  kindly  took  her  work  to 
the  dining-room  and  left  them  to  talk  unrestrainedly. 

"  Sit  down  in  this  rocking-chair  and  warm  your  hands." 

He  seated  himself  near  her,  and,  as  the  firelight  glowed  on 
the  faces  of  both,  they  contrasted  strangely.  One  was  classical 
and  full  of  youthful  beauty,  the  other  wan,  haggard  and  sor- 
row-stained. He  looked  about  sixteen,  and  promised  to  become 
a  strikingly  handsome  man,  while  the  proportions  of  his  pol- 


BEULAH.  9 

ished  brow  indicated  more  than  ordinary  intellectual  endow- 
ments. He  watched  his  companion  earnestly,  sadly,  and,  lean- 
ing forward,  took  one  of  her  hands. 

"  Beulah,  I  see  from  your  face  that  you  have  not  shed  a 
single  tear.  I  wish  you  would  not  keep  your  sorrow  so  pent 
up  in  your  heart." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  help  it !  If  it  were  not  for  you,  I  believe  I 
should  die,  I  am  so  very  miserable.  Eugene,  if  you  could  have 
seen  our  Lilly  cling  to  me,  even  to  the  last  moment.  It  seems 
to  me  my  heart  will  break."  She  sank  her  weary  head  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  Yes,  darling,  I  know  you  are  suffering  very  much ;  but  re- 
member that  '  all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that 
love  God.'  Perhaps  He  sees  it  is  best  that  you  should  give 
her  up  for  a  while,  and  if  so,  will  you  not  try  to  bear  it  cheer- 
fully, instead  of  making  yourself  sick  with  useless  grief  ? " 
He  gently  smoothed  the  hair  from  her  brow  as  he  spoke.  She 
did  not  reply.  He  did  not  expect  that  she  would,  and  con- 
tinued in  the  same  kind  tone : 

"  I  am  much  more  troubled  about  your  taking  this  situation. 
If  I  had  known  it  earlier  I  would  have  endeavored  to  prevent 
it,  but  I  suppose  it  cannot  be  helped  now,  for  a  while,  at  least. 
For  my  part,  I  look  forward  to  the  time  when  you  and  I  shall 
have  a  home  of  our  own,  and  then  Lilly  and  Claudy  can  be 
with  us.  I  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Mason  about  it  yesterday;  she 
loves  you  very  much.  I  dare  say  all  will  be  right,  so'  cheer 
up,  Beulah,  and  do  look  on  the  bright  side." 

"Eugene,  you  are  the  only  bright  side  I  have  to  look  on. 
Sometimes  I  think  you  will  get  tired  of  me,  and  if  you  ever 
do,  I  shall  want  to  die.  Oh,  how  could  I  bear  to  know  you 
did  not  love  me."  She  raised  her  head  and  looked  earnestly  at 
his  noble  face. 

Eugene  laughingly  repeated  her  words. 

"  Get  tired  of  you,  indeed — not  I,  little  sister." 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  to  thank  you  for  your  book ;  I  like  it  better 
than  anything  I  ever  read;  some  parts  are  so  beautiful — so 
very  grand.  I  keep  it  in  my  basket,  and  read  every  moment 
I  can  spare." 

"  I  knew  you  would  like  it,  particularly  '  Excelsior.'  Beulah, 
I  have  written  excelsior  on  my  banner,  and  I  intend,  like  that 
noble  youth,  to  press  forward  over  every  obstacle,  mounting 
at  every  step,  until  I,  too,  stand  on  the  highest  pinnacle,  and 
plant  my  banner  where  its  glorious  motto  shall  float  over  the 
world.  That  poem  stirs  my  very  soul  like  martial  music,  and 
I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  see  Mr.  Longfellow,  to  tell  him 
how  I  thank  him  for  having  written  it." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke. 

"  You  will  be  cold  walking  home.  Let  me  get  you  a  shawl." 
2  i 


10  BEULAH. 

""No,  I  left  my  overcoat  in  the  hall — here  it  is." 

IShe  followed  him  out  to  the  door,  as  he  drew  it  on  and  put 
on  his  cap.  The  moonlight  shone  over  the  threshold,  and  he 
thought  she  looked  ghostly  as  it  fell  upon  her  face.  He  took 
her  hand,  pressed  it  gently,  and  said: 

"  Good  night,  dear  Beulah." 

"  Good-by,  Eugene.    Do  come  and  see  me  again  soon." 

A  day  or  two  later  Beulah  was  installed  in  the  mansion  of 
Mrs.  Martin,  as  the  nurse  of  baby  John. 

Life  flowed  on  peacefully,  and  Beulah  might  have  been  con- 
tent, had  she  not  had  misgivings  about  her  sister.  She  en- 
deavored to  see  Lilly,  but  Mrs.  Grayson,  who  was  not  a  cruel 
woman,  though  very  worldly,  did  not  approve  of  her  adopted 
daughter  associating  with  a  hired  nurse,  and  poor  Beulah  was 
forced  to  go  away  nearly  broken-hearted. 

One  thing,  however,  made  life  bearable — and  this  was  the 
advent  of  Dr.  Hartwell.  Baby  John  had  been  taken  sick,  and 
Dr.  Hartwell  was  called  in.  But  the  physician  saw  that  be- 
sides his  child  patient,  there  was  another  who  needed  relief. 
So,  after  prescribing  for  the  suffering  little  one,  he  led  Beulah 
to  speak  of  herself,  and,  learning  her  whole  story,  he  soothed 
her  into  at  least  a  measure  of  contentment. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

LITTLE  Johnny's  illness  proved  long  and  serious,  and  for 
many  days  and  nights  he  seemed  on  the  verge  of  the  tomb. 
His  wailings  were  never  hushed,  except  in  Beulah's  arms,  and, 
•as  might  be  supposed,  constant  watching  soon  converted  her 
into  a  mere  shadow  of  her  former  self.  Thus  several  weeks 
elapsed,  and  gradually  the  sick  child  grew  stronger. 

Then  something  happened  to  render  the  state  of  Beulah 
still  more  bitter.  Eugene  had  broken  the  news  that  he  was  to 
go  to  a  great  German  university,  to  be  away  for  five  years. 
Five  years !  Beulah  felt  that  she  must  die  before  the  time  had 
come  for  his  return — and  then  what  changes  might  ensue! 
Yet  even  Beulah,  when  she  sorrowfully  took  leave  of  him  and 
bade  him  Godspeed,  did  not  dream  what  the  passing1  of  the 
years  would  do  for  the  Eugene  whom  she  adored. 

Several  tedious  weeks  had  rolled  away  since  Eugene  Graham 
left  his  sunny  Southern  home  to  seek  learning  in  the  venerable 
universities  of  the  old  world.  During  the  winter,  scarlet  fever 
had  hovered  threateningly  over  the  city,  but  as  the  spring 
advanced,  hopes  were  entertained  that  all  danger  had  passed. 
Consequently,  when  it  was  announced  that  the  disease  had 
made  its  appearance  in  a  very  malignant  form  in  the  house 


BEULAH.  11 

adjoining  Mrs.  Martin's,  she  determined  to  send  her  children 
immediately  out  of  town.  To  this  plan  Beulah  made  no  re- 
sistance, though  the  memory  of  her  little  sister  haunted  her 
hourly.  What  could  she  do?  Make  one  last  attempt  to  see 
her,  and  if  again  refused,  then  it  mattered  not  whither  she 
went.  When  the  preparations  for  their  journey  had  been  com- 
pleted and  Johnny  slept  soundly  in  his  crib,  Beulah  put  on 
her  old  straw  bonnet  and  set  out  for  Mr.  Grayson's  residence. 

She  walked  on,  with  her  head  bowed,  like  one  stooping  from 
an  impending  blow,  and  when  at  last  the  crouching  lions  con- 
fronted her,  she  felt  as  if  her  heart  had  suddenly  frozen, 
There  stood  the  doctor's  buggy.  She  sprang  up  the  steps,  and 
stretched  out  her  hand  for  the  bolt  of  the  door.  Long  stream- 
ers of  crape  floated  through  her  fingers.  She  stood  still  a 
moment,  then  threw  open  the  door  and  rushed  in.  The  hall 
floor  was  covered  to  mufne  the  tread;  not  a  sound  reached  her, 
save  the  stirring  of  the  china  trees  outside.  Her  hand  was 
on  the  balustrade  to  ascend  the  steps,  but  her  eyes  fell  upon 
a  piece  of  crape  fastened  to  the  parlor  door,  and,  pushing  it 
ajar,  she  looked  in.  The  furniture  was  draped;  even  the  mir- 
rors, and  pictures,  and  on  a  small,  oblong  table  in  the  center 
of  the  room,  lay  a  shrouded  form.  With  rigid  limbs  she  tot- 
tered to  the  table,  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  velvet  pall;  with 
closed  eyes  she  drew  it  down,  then  held  her  breath  and  looked. 
There  lay  her  idol,  in  the  marble  arms  of  death.  Ah,  h,ow 
matchlessly  beautiful,  wrapped  in  her  last  sleep!  Beulah's 
gaze  dwelt  upon  this  mocking  loveliness,  then  the  arms  were 
thrown  wildly  up,  and  with  a  long,  wailing  cry,  her  head  sank 
heavily  on  the  velvet  cushion  beside  the  cold  face  of  her  dead 
darling.  How  long  it  rested  there  she  never  knew.  Then  she 
was  lifted,  and  the  motion  aroused  her  torpid  faculties;  she 
moaned  and  opened  her  eyes.  Dr.  Hartwell  was  placing  her 
on  a  sofa,  and  Mrs.  Grayson  stood  by  the  table  with  a  hand- 
kerchief over  her  eyes.  With  returning  consciousness  came  a 
raving  despair;  Beulah  sprang  from  the  strong  arm  that  strove 
to  detain  her,  and  laying  one  clinched  hand  on  the  folded 
fingers  of  the  dead,  raised  the  other  fiercely  toward  Mrs.  Gray- 
son,  and  exclaimed,  almost  frantically: 

"  You  have  murdered  her !  I  knew  it  would  be  so,  when 
you  took  my  darling  from  my  arms,  and  refused  my  prayer! 
Ay,  my  prayer!  I  knelt  and  prayed  you,  in  the  name  of  God, 
to  let  me  see  her  once  more;  to  let  me. hold  her  to  my  heart, 
and  kiss  her  lips,  and  forehead,  and  little  slender  hands.  You 
scorned  a  poor  girl's  prayer;  you  taunted  me  with  my  pov- 
erty, and  locked  me  from  my  darling,  my  Lilly,  my  all!  Oh, 
woman!  you  drove  me  wild,  and  I  cursed  you  and  your  hus- 
band. Ha!  has  your  wealth  and  splendor  saved  her?  God 
have  mercy  upon  me;  I  feel  as  if  I  could  curse  you  eternally. 

I 


12  BEULAH. 

Could  you  not  have  sent  for  me  before  she  died?  Oh,  if  I 
could  only  have  taken  her  in  my  arms,  and  seen  her  soft,  angel 
eyes  looking  up  to  me,  and  felt  her  little  arms  around  my 
neck,  and  heard  her  say  '  sister '  for  the  last  time !  Would  it 
have  taken  a  dime  from  your  purse,  or  made  you  less  fashion- 
able, to  have  sent  for  me  before  she  died  ?  '  Such  measure  as 
ye  mete,  shall  be  meted  to  you  again.'  May  you  live  to  have 
your  heart  trampled  and  crushed,  even  as  you  have  trampled 
mine ! " 

Her  arm  sank  to  her  side,  and  once  more  the  blazing  eyes 
were  fastened  on  the  young  sleeper;  while  Mrs.  Grayson,  cow- 
ering like  a  frightened  child,  left  the  room'.  Beulah  fell  on 
her  knees,  and,  crossing  her  arms  on  the  table,  bowed  her  head; 
now  and  then,  broken,  wailing  tones  passed  the  white  lips. 
Dr.  Hartwell  stood  in  a  recess  of  the  window,  with  folded  arms 
and  tightly-compressed  mouth,  watching  the  young  mourner. 
Once  he  moved  toward  her,  then  drew  back,  and  a  derisive 
smile  distorted  his  features,  as  though  he  scorned  himself  for 
the  momentary  weakness.  Then,  as  he  noted  the  slight,  quiv- 
ering form  and  the  thin  hands,  a  look  of  remorseful  agony 
swept  over  his  countenance,  and,  coming  back  he  said,  very 
gently : 

"Beulah,  this  is  no  place  for  you.  Come  with  me  and  be 
my  child." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  moan. 

Passing  his  arm  around  her,  he  raised  her  from  the  carpet, 
r.nd  bore  her  out  of  the  house  of  death.  His  buggy  stood  at 
the  door,  and,  seating  himself  in  it,  he  directed  the  boy  who 
accompanied  him  to  "drive  home."  Soon  she  was  lifted  out 
of  the  «buggy,  carried  up  a  flight  of  steps,  and  then  a  flood  of 
light  flashed  through  the  fingers  upon  her  closed  eyelids.  Dr. 
Hartwell  placed  his  charge  on  a  sofa,  and  rang  the  bell.  The 
summons  was  promptly  answered  by  a  negro  woman  of  middle 
age.  She  stood  at  the  door  awaiting  the  order,  but  his  eyes 
were  bent  on  the  floor,  and  his  brows  knitted. 

"  Master,  did  you  ring  ?  " 

"  Yes,  tell  my  sister  to  come  to  me." 

He  took  a  turn  across  the  floor,  and  paused  by  the  open 
window.  The  door  opened,  and  a  tall,  slender  woman,  of  per- 
haps thirty-five  years,  entered  the  room.  She  was  pale  and 
handsome,  with  a  profusion  of  short  chestnut  curls  about  her 
face.  With  her  hand  resting  on  the  door,  she  said  in  a  calm, 
clear  tone: 

"Well,  Guy." 

He  started,  and,  turning  from  the  window,  approached  her. 

"  May,  I  want  a  room  arranged  for  this  child  as  soon  as 
possible.  Will  you  see  that  a  hot  foot-bath  is  provided  ?  When 
it  is  ready,  send  Harriet  for  her." 


BEULAH.  13 

His   sister's  lips   curled   as  she   looked  searchingly   at   the 
figure  on  the  sofa,  and  said,  coldly: 
'  What  freak  now,  Guy  ?  " 

'  I  intend  to  adopt  that  poor  little  orphan ;  that  is  all !  " 
'  Where  did  you  pick  her  up,  at  the  hospital  ? " 
'  No,  she  has  been  hired  as  a  nurse,  at  a  boarding-house." 
'  I  thought  you  had  had  quite  enough  of  proteges." 
'  Take  care,  May  Chilton !     Mark  me.     Lift  the  pall  from 
the  past  once  more,  and  you  and  Pauline  must  find  another 
home,   another  protector.     Now,  will  you  see  that  a  room  is 
prepared   as   I   directed  ? "     He  was  very   pale,   and  his  eyes 
burned  fiecely,  yet  his  tone  was  calm  and  subdued.    Mrs.  Chil- 
ton bit  her  lips  and  withdrew.     Dr.  Hartwell  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  for  a  while,  now  and  then  looking  sadly  at  the 
young  stranger.    Kindly  he  bent  down,  and  whispered: 
"Will  you  trust  me,  Beulah?" 

She  made  no  answer,  but  he  saw  her  brow  wrinkle,  and 
knew  that  she  shuddered.  The  servant  came  in  to  say  that 
the  room  had  been  arranged,  as  he  had  directed.  However 
surprised  she  might  have  been  at  this  sudden  advent  of  the 
simply-clad  orphan  in  her  master's  study,  there  was  not  the 
faintest  indication  of  it  in  her  impenetrable  countenance. 

"Harriet,  see  that  her  feet  are  well  bathed;  and,  when  she 
is  in  bed,  come  for  some  medicine." 

Then,  drawing  the  hands  from  her  eyes,  he  said  to  Beulah,: 
"  Go  with  her,  my  child.    I  am  glad  I  have  you  safe  under 
my  own  roof,  where  no  more  cruel  injustice  can  assail  you." 

He  pressed  her  hand  kindly,  and,  rising  mechanically 
Beulah  accompanied  Harriet,  who  considerately  supported  the 
drooping  form.  The  room  to  which  she  was  conducted  was 
richly  furnished,  and  lighted  by  an  elegant  colored  lamp,  sus- 
pended from  the  ceiling.  Mrs.  Chilton  stood  near  an  arm- 
chair, looking  moody  and  abstracted.  Harriet  carefully  un- 
dressed the  poor  mourner,  and,  wrapping  a  shawl  about  her, 
placed  her  in  the  chair,  and  bathed  her  feet.  Mrs.  Chilton 
watched  her  with  ill-concealed  impatience.  When  the  little 
dripping  feet  were  dried,  Harriet  lifted  her,  as  if  she  had  been 
an  infant,  and  placed  her  in  bed,  then  brought  the  medicine 
from  the  study,  and  administered  a  spoonful  of  the  mixture. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THROUGH  quiet,  woody  dells  roamed  Beulah's  spirit,  and, 
hand  in  hand,  she  and  Lilly  trod  flowery  paths  and  rested  be- 
side clear,  laughing  brooks.  It  was  not  scarlet,  but  brain  fever, 
and  this  was  the  fifth  day  that  the  sleeper  had  lain  in  a  heavy 
stupor.  Dr.  Hartwell  put  back  the  hand  he  held,  and,  stooping 


14  BEULAH. 

over,  looked  long  and  anxiously  at  the  flushed  face.  The 
breathing  was  deep  and  labored,  and,  turning  away,  he  slowly 
and  noiselessly  walked  up  and  down  the  floor.  To  have  looked 
at  him  then,  in  his  purple  silk  robe  de  chambre,  one  would 
have  scarcely  believed  that  thirty  years  had  passed  over  his 
head.  He  was  tall  and  broad-chested,  his  head  massive  and 
well  formed,  his  face  a  curious  study.  The  brow  was  expan- 
sive and  almost  transparent  in  its  purity,  the  dark,  hazel  eyes 
were  singularly  brilliant,  while  the  contour  of  lips  and  chin 
was  partially  concealed  by  a  heavy  mustache  and  beard.  The 
first  glance  at  his  face  impressed  strangers  by  its  extreme 
pallor,  but  in  a  second  look  they  were  fascinated  by  the  misty 
splendor  of  the  eyes.  In  truth,  those  were  strange  eyes  of 
Guy  Hartwell — at  times,  searching  and  glittering  like  pol- 
ished steel;  occasionally  lighting  up  with  a  dazzling  radiance, 
and  then  as  suddenly  growing  gentle,  hazy,  yet  luminous,  re- 
sembling the  clouded  aspect  of  a  star  seen  through  a  thin  veil 
of  mist.  His  brown,  curling  hair  was  thrown  back  from  the 
face,  and  exposed  the  outline  of  the  ample  forehead.  Perhaps 
utilitarians  would  have  carped  at  the  feminine  delicacy  of  the 
hands,  and  certainly  the  fingers  were  slender  and  marvelously 
white.  On  one  hand  he  wore  an  antique  ring,  composed  of  a 
cameo  snakehead  set  round  with  diamonds.  A  proud,  gifted, 
and  miserable  man  was  Guy  Hartwell,  and  his  characteristic 
expression  of  stern  sadness  might  easily  have  been  mistaken 
by  casual  observers  for  bitter  misanthropy. 

"  Guy,  there  is  a  messenger  waiting  at  the  door  to  see  you.  Mr. 
Vincent  requires  prompt  attendance."  Mrs.  Chilton  stood  near 
the  window,  and  the  moonlight  flashed  over  her  handsome  face. 

'  Very  well."    He  crossed  the  room  and  rang  the  bell. 

'  Guy,  are  you  sure  that  girl  has  not  scarlet  fever  ? " 

'May,  I  have  answered  that  question  already." 

'  But  you  should  sympathize  with  a  mother's  anxiety.  I 
dread  to  expose  Pauline  to  danger." 

'  Then  let  her  remain  where  she  is." 

'  But  I  prefer  having  her  come  home,  if  I  could  feel  assured 
that  girl  has  only  brain  fever." 

"  Then,  once  for  all,  there  is  rio  scarlet  fever  in  the  house." 

He  took  a  vial  from  his  pocket,  and  poured  a  portion  of  its 
contents  into  the  glass,  which  he  placed  on  a  stand  by  Beulah's 
bed;  then  turning  to  Harriet,  who  had  obeyed  his  summons, 
he  directed  her  to  administer  the  medicine  hourly. 

"  Guy,  you  may  give  your  directions  to  me,  for  I  shall  stay 
with  the  child  to-night."  As  she  spoke,  she  seated  herself  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed." 

"  Harriet,  hand  me  the  candle  in  the  hall."  She  did  so ; 
and,  as  her  master  took  it  from  her  hand,  he  said,  abruptly: 

"  Tell  Hal  to  bring  my  buggy  round,  and  then  you  may  go 


BEULAH.  15 

to  bed.  I  will  ring  if  you  are  wanted."  He  waited  until  she 
was  out  of  hearing,  and,  walking  up  to  his  sister,  held  the 
candle  so  that  the  light  fell  full  upon  her  face. 

"May,  can  I  trust  you?" 

"  Brother,  you  are  cruelly  unjust." 

"Am  I,  indeed?" 

"  Yes,  you  wrong  me  hourly  with  miserable  suspicions. 
Guy,  remember  that  I  have  your  blood  in  my  veins,  and  it  will 
not  always  tamely  bear  insult  even  from  you." 

"  Insult !     May,  can  the  unvarnished  truth  be  such  ?  " 

They  eyed  each  other  steadily,  and  it  was  apparent  that  each 
iron  will  was  mated. 

"  Guy,  you  shall  repent  this." 

"  Perhaps  so.    You  have  made  me  repent  many  things." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that " 

"  I  mean  to  say,  that  since  you  have  at  last  offered  to  assist 
in  nursing  that  unconscious  child,  I  wish  you  to  give  the  medi- 
cine hourly.  The  last  potion  was  at  eight  o'clock."  He  placed 
the  candle  so  as  to  shade  the  light  from  the  sick  girl,  and  left 
the  room.  Mrs.  Chilton  sat  for  some  time  as  he  had  left  her, 
with  her  head  leaning  on  her  hand,  her  thoughts  evidently  per- 
plexed and  bitter.  At  length  she  rose  and  stood  close  to 
Beulah,  looking  earnestly  at  her  emaciated  face.  She  put  her 
fingers  on  the  burning  temples  and  wrist,  and  counted  accu- 
rately the  pulsations  of  the  lava  tide,  then  bent  her  queenly 
head,  and  listened  to  the  heavily-drawn  breathing.  A  haughty 
smile  lit  her  fine  features  as  she  said,  complacently: 

"  A  mere  tempest  in  a  teapot.  Pshaw,  this  girl  will  not 
mar  my  projects  long.  By  noon  to-morrow  she  will  be  in 
eternity.  I  thought,  the  first  time  I  saw  her  ghostly  face,  she 
would  trouble  me  but  a  short  season.  What  paradoxes  men 
are.  What  on  earth  possessed  Guy,  with  his  fastidious  taste, 
to  bring  to  his  home  such  an  ugly,  wasted,  sallow  little  wretch  ? 
I  verily  Relieve,  as  a  family,  we  are  beset  by  evil  angels." 
Drawing  out  her  watch,  she  saw  that  the  hand  had  passed 
nine.  Raising  the  glass  to  her  lips,  she  drank  the  quantity 
prescribed  for  the  sufferer,  and  was  replacing  it  on  the  stand, 
when  Beulah's  large,  eloquent  eyes  startled  her. 

"Well,  child,  what  do  you  want?"  said  she,  trembling,  de- 
spite her  assumed  indifference.  Beulah  looked  at  her  vacantly, 
then  threw  her  arms  restlessly  over  the  pillow,  and  slept  again. 
Mrs.  Chilton  drew  up  a  chair,  seated  herself,  and  sank  into 
a  reverie  of  some  length.  Ultimately  she  was  aroused  by  per- 
ceiving her  brother  beside  her,  and  said,  hastily: 

"How  is  Mr.  Vincent?     Not  dangerously  ill,  I  hope?" 

"  To-morrow  will  decide  that.  It  is  now  ten  minutes  past 
ten ;  how  many  potions  have  you  given  ?  " 

"  Two,"  answered  she,  firmly. 


16  BEULAH. 

"  Thank  you,  May.    I  will  relieve  you  now.    Good-night." 

"But  you  are  worn  out,  and  I  am  not.  Let  me  sit  up.  I 
will  wake  you  if  any  change  occurs." 

"  Thank  you,  I  prefer  watching  to-night.  Take  that  candle, 
and  leave  it  on  the  table  in  the  hall.  I  need  nothing  but 
moonlight.  Leave  the  door  open."  As  the  flickering  light 
vanished,  he  threw  himself  into  the  chair  beside  the  bed. 

It  was  in  the  gray  light  of  dawning  day  that  Beulah  awoke 
to  consciousness.  For  some  moments  after  unclosing  her  eyes, 
they  wandered  inquiringly  about  the  room,  and  finally  rested 
on  the  tall  form  of  the  watcher,  as  he  stood  at  the  open  win- 
dow. Too  feeble  even  to  think,  she  moaned  audibly.  Dr. 
Hart  well  turned  and  looked  at  her.  The  room  was  still  in 
shadow,  though  the  eastern  sky  was  flushed,  and  he  stepped 
to  the  bedside.  The  fever  had  died  out,  the  cheeks  were  very 
pale,  and  the  unnaturally  large,  sunken  eyes  lusterless.  She 
looked  at  him  steadily,  yet  with  perfect  indifference.  He 
leaned  over,  and  said,  eagerly: 

"  Beulah,  do  you  know  me  ?  " 
'  "Yes,  I  know  you." 

"  How  do  you  feel  this  morning  ?  " 

"I  am  very  weak,  and  my  head  seems  confused.  How  long 
have  I  been  here  ?  " 

"No  matter,  child,  if  you  are  better."  He  took  out  his 
watch,  and,  after  counting  her  pulse,  prepared  some  medicine, 
and  gave  her  a  potion. 

He  passed  his  fingers  softly  over  her  forehead,  and  put  back 
the  tangled  masses  of  jetty  hair,  which  long  neglect  had  piled 
about  her  face.  The  touch  of  his  cool  hand,  the  low,  musical 
tones  of  his  voice,  were  very  soothing  to  the  weary  sufferer, 
and  with  a  great  effort  she  looked  up  into  the  deep,  dark  eyes, 
saying  brokenly: 

"  Oh,  sir,  how  good  you  are !  I  am — very  grateful — to  you 
— indeed,  I  am " 

"  There,  my  child,  do  not  try  to  talk,  only  trust  me,  and  be 
cheerful.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  have  you  here,  and  know 
that  you  will  always  remain  in  my  house." 

How  long  he  sat  there  she  never  knew,  for  soon  she  slept, 
and  when,  hours  after,  she  waked,  the  lamp  was  burning 
dimly,  and  only  Harriet  was  in  the  room.  A  week  passed,  and 
the  girl  saw  no  one  except  the  nurse  and  physician.  One 
sunny  afternoon  she  looped  back  the  white  curtains,  and  sat 
down  before  the  open  window. 

She  was  startled  out  of  a  sad  reverie  by  ringing  peals  of 
laughter,  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  adjoining  passage. 

The  next  moment  the  door  was  thrown  rudely  open,  and  a 
girl  about  her  own  age  sprang  into  the  room,  quickly  followed 
by  Mrs.  Chilton. 


BEULAH.  17 

"  Let  me  alone,  mother.     I  tell  you  I  mean  to  see  her." 

The  speaker  paused  in  the  center  of  the  apartment.  Invol- 
untarily Beulah  raised,  her  eyes,  and  met  the  searching  look 
fixed  upon  her.  The  intruder  was  richly  dressed,  and  her  very 
posture  bespoke  the  lawless  independence  of  a  willful,  petted 
child.  The  figure  was  faultlessly  symmetrical,  and  her  face 
radiantly  beautiful.  The  features  were  clearly  cut  and  regu- 
lar, the  eyes  of  deep,  dark  violet  hue,  shaded  by  curling  brown 
lashes.  Her  chestnut  hair  was  thrown  back  with  a  silver 
comb,  and  fell  in  thick  curls  below  the  waist;  her  complexion 
was  of  alabaster  clearness,  and  cheeks  and  lips  wore  the  coral 
bloom  of  health.  Her  lips  parted,  and  she  put  out  her  hand, 
as  if  to  address  Beulah,  when  Mrs.  Chilton  exclaimed,  im- 
patiently : 

"  Pauline,  come  down  this  instant !  Your  uncle  positively 
forbade  your  entering  this  room  until  he  gave  you  permission. 
There  is  his  buggy  this  minute !  Come  out,  I  say ! "  She 
laid  her  hand  in  no  gentle  manner  on  her  daughter's  arm. 

"  Oh,  sink  the  buggy !  What  do  I  care  if  he  does  catch  me 
here  ?  I  shall  stay  till  I  make  up  my  mind  whether  that  little 
thing  is  a  ghost  or  not.  So,  mother,  let  me  alone." 

At  this  moment  Dr.  Hartwell  appeared  on  the  scene,  and, 
though  regretting  all  the  confusion,  he  hid  his  annoyance  and 
formally  introduced  the  willful  Pauline,  his  niece,  to  Beulah, 
bidding  her  be  kind  to  his  adopted  daughter. 

Shortly  afterwards  Beulah  was  able  to  be  about,  and  proved 
herself  a  willing  helper  to  the  doctor.  Still  she  was  not  happy, 
for  this  state  of  dependence  was  irksome  to  her  spirit,  so  she 
determined  to  ask  Dr.  Hartwell  to  give  her  an  education, 
which  would  enable  her  to  repay  its  price. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE  days  passed  swiftly.  Beulah  spent  most  of  her  time  in 
her  own  room,  for  Dr.  Hartwell  was  sometimes  absent  all  day, 
and  she  longed  to  escape  his  sister's  icy  espionage.  Monday 
morning  she  expected  to  start  to  school.  Madam  St.  Cymon's 
was  the  fashionable  institution  of  the  city,  and  thither,  with 
Pauline,  she  was  destined.  Beulah  rose  early,  dressed  herself 
carefully,  and,  after  reading  a  chapter  in  her  Bible,  and  ask- 
ing God's  special  guidance  through  the  day,  descended  to  the 
breakfast-room.  Dr.  Hartwell  sat  reading  a  newspaper;  he  did 
not  look  up,  and  she  quietly  seated  herself  unobserved.  Pres- 
ently Mrs.  Chilton  entered  and  walked  up  to  her  brother. 

"  Good-morning,  Guy.  Are  there  no  tidings  of  that  vessel 
yet?  I  hear  the  Grahams  are  terribly  anxious  about  it.  Cor- 
nelia said  her  father  was  unable  to  sleep." 


18  BEULAH. 

"No  news  yet,  but,  May,  be  sure  you  do  not  let " 

"Was  it  the  Morning  Star?    Is  he  lost?" 

Beulah  stood  crouching  at  his  side,  with  her  hands  extended 
pleadingly,  and  her  white  face  convulsed. 

"  My  child,  do  not  look  so  wretched ;  the  vessel  that  Eugene 
sailed  in  was  disabled  in  a  storm,  and  has  not  yet  reached 
the  place  of  destination.  Perhaps  at  this  very  moment  Eugene 
may  be  writing  you  an  account  of  his  voyage.  I  believe  that 
we  shall  soon  hear  of  his  safe  arrival.  You  need  not  dive 
down  into  my  eyes  in  that  way.  I  do  believe  it,  for  the  vessel 
was  seen  after  the  storm,  and  though  far  out  of  the  right 
track,  there  is  good  reason  to  suppose  she  has  put  into  some 
port  to  be  repaired." 

Beulah  clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  as  if  to  shut  out 
some  horrid  phantom,  and,  while  her  heart  seemed  dying  on 
the  rack,  she  resolved  not  to  despair  till  the  certainty  came. 

"  Time  enough  when  there  is  no  hope ;  I  will  not  go  out  to 
meet  sorrow."  With  a  sudden,  inexplicable  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing, she  sank  on  her  knees,  and  there,  beside  her  protector, 
vehemently  prayed  Almighty  God  to  guard  and  guide  the 
tempest-tossed  loved  one.  Dr.  Hartwell  put  his  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  kneeling  girl,  and  asked,  rather  abruptly: 

"  Beulah,  do  you  believe  that  the  God  you  pray  to  hears  you  ?  " 

"  I  do.    He  has  promised  to  answer  prayer." 

"  Then  get  up  and  be  satisfied,  and  eat  your  breakfast.  You 
have  asked  Him  to  save  and  protect  Eugene,  and,  according 
to  the  Bible,  He  will  certainly  do  it;  so,  no  more  tears.  If 
you  believe  in  your  God,  what  are  you  looking  so  wretched 
about  ? "  There  was  something  in  all  this  that  startled  Beu- 
lah, and  she  looked  up  at  him.  His  chilly  smile  pained  her, 
and  she  rose  quickly,  while  again  and  again  his  words  rang 
in  her  ear.  Yet,  what  was  there  so  strange  about  this  applica- 
tion of  faith?  With  innate  quickness  of  perception,  she  de- 
tected the  tissued  veil  of  irony  which  the  doctor  had  wrapped 
about  his  attempted  consolation,  and  she  looked  at  him  so  in- 
tently, so  piercingly,  that  he  hastily  turned  away  and  seated 
himself  at  the  table. 

Entering  school  is  always  a  disagreeable  ordeal,  and  to  a 
sensitive  nature,  such  as  Beulah's,  it  was  torturing.  Madam 
St.  Cymon  was  a  good-natured,  kind,  little  body,  and  received 
her  with  a  warmth  which  made  amends  in  some  degree  for  the 
battery  of  eyes  she  was  forced  to  encounter. 

"  Ah,  yes !  the  doctor  called  to  see  me  about  you — wants  you 
to  take  the  Latin  course.  For  the  present,  my  dear,  you  will 
sit  with  Miss  Sanders.  Clara,  take  this  young  lady  with  you." 

The  girl  addressed  looked  at  least  sixteen  years  of  age,  and, 
rising  promptly,  she  came  forward  and  led  Beulah  to  a  seat 
at  her  desk,  which  was  constructed  for  two  persons. 


BEULAH.  19 

Clara  Sanders  was  not  a  beauty  in  the  ordinary  acceptation 
of  the  term,  but  there  was  an  expression  of  angelic  sweetness 
and  purity  in  her  countenance  which  fascinated  the  orphan. 
She  remarked  the  scrutiny  of  the  young  stranger,  and,  smil- 
ing* good-humoredly,  said,  as  she  leaned  over  and  arranged  the 
desk: 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  you  with  me,  and  dare  say  we  shall  get 
on  very  nicely  together.  You  look  ill." 

"  I  have  been  ill  recently,  and  have  not  yet  regained  my 
strength.  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  some  water?  I 
feel  rather  faint." 

Her  companion  brought  her  a  glass  of  water.  She  drank  it 
eagerly,  and,  as  Clara  resumed  her  seat,  said,  in  a  low  voice: 

"  Oh,  thank  you.    You  are  very  kind." 

"  Not  at  all.  If  you  feel  worse  you  must  let  me  know." 
She  turned  to  her  books  and  soon  forgot  the  presence  of  the 
newcomer. 

The  latter  watched  her,  and  noticed  now  that  she  was 
dressed,  in  deep  mourning ;  was  she,  too,  an  orphan,  and  had 
this  circumstance  rendered  her  so  kindly  sympathetic?  Soon 
Clara  left  her  for  recitation,  and  then  she  turned  to  the  new 
books  which  madam  had  sent  to  her  desk.  Thus  passed  the 
morning,  and  she  started  when  the  recess  bell  rang  its  sum- 
mons through  the  long  room.  Bustle,  chatter,  and  confusion 
ensued.  Pauline  called  to  her-  to  come  into  the  lunchroom, 
and  touched  her  little  basket  as  she  spoke,  but  Beulah  shook 
her  head  and  kept  her  seat. 

Clara  was  engaged  in  drawing,  and,  looking  on,  Beulah  be- 
came interested  in  the  progress  of  the  sketch.  Suddenly  a 
hand  was  placed  over  the  paper,  and  a  tall,  handsome  girl, 
with  black  eyes  and  sallow  complexion,  exclaimed  sharply: 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Clara  Sanders,  do  you  expect  to  swim 
into  the  next  world  on  a  piece  of  drawing-paper?  Come  over 
to  my  seat  and  work  out  that  eighth  problem  for  me.  I  have 
puzzled  over  it  all  the  morning,  and  can't  get  it  right." 

[    can    show   you   here   quite   as   well."      Taking    out   her 
Euclid,  she  found  and  explained  the  obstinate  problem. 

"  Thank  you.  I  cannot  endure  mathematics,  but  father  is 
bent  upon  my  being  '  thorough,'  as  he  calls  it.  I  think  it  is 
all  thorough  nonsense.  Now  with  you  it  is  very  different; 
you  expect  to  be  a  teacher,  and,  of  course,  will  have  to  acquire 
all  these  branches;  but,  for  my  part,  I  see  no  use  in  it.  I 
shall  be  rejoiced  when  this  dull  school  work  is  over." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Cornelia ;  I  think  our  school  days  are  the 
happiest,  and  feel  sad  that  mine  are  numbered." 

Here  the  bell  announced  recess  over,  and  Cornelia  moved 
away  to  her  seat.  A  trembling  hand  sought  Clara's  arm. 

"Is  that  Cornelia  Graham?" 


20  BEULAH. 

"  Yes ;  is  site  not  very  handsome  ?  " 

Beulah  made  no  answer;  she  only  remembered  that  this  girl 
was  Eugene's  adopted  sister;  and,  looking  after  the  tall, 
queenly  form,  she  longed  to  follow  her,  and  ask  all  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  storm.  Thus  ended  the  first  dreaded  day  at 
school,  and,  on  reaching  home,  Beulah  threw  herself  on  her  bed 
with  a  low,  wailing  cry.  The  long-pent  sorrow  must  have  vent, 
and  she  sobbed  until  weariness  sank  her  into  a  heavy  sleep. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  CORNELIA  GRAHAM,  I  want  to  know  why  you  did  not  come 
to  my  party?  You  might,  at  least,  have  honored  me  with  an 
excuse."  Such  was  Pauline's  salutation  the  following  day, 
when  the  girls  gathered  in  groups  about  the  schoolroom. 

"  Why,  Pauline,  I  did  send  an  excuse,  but  it  was  addressed 
to  your  mother,  and  probably  she  forgot  to  mention  it.  You 
must  acquit  me  of  any  such  rudeness." 

"  Well,  but  why  didn't  you  come  ?  We  had  a  glorious  time. 
I  have  half  a  mind  not  to  tell  you  what  I  heard  said  of  you, 
but  I  believe  you  may  have  it  second-hand.  Fred  Vincent 
was  as  grum  as  a  preacher  all  the  evening,  and  when  I  asked 
him  what  on  earth  made  him  so  surly  and  owlish,  he  said, 
'It  was  too  provoking  you  would  not  come,  for  no  one  else 
could  dance  the  schottische  to  his  liking.'  Now,  there  was  a 
sweet  specimen  of  manners  for  you!  You  had  better  teach 
your  beau  politeness." 

Cornelia  was  about  to  retort,  but  madam's  voice  prevented, 
as  she  held  out  a  note,  and  said: 

"  Miss  Graham,  a  servant  has  just  brought  this  for  you." 

The  girl's  face  flushed  and  paled  alternately  as  she  received 
the  note  and  broke  the  seal  with  trembling  fingers.  Glancing 
over  the  contents,  her  countenance  became  irradiated,  and  she 
exclaimed,  joyfully: 

"  Good  news !  the  Morning  Star  has  arrived  at  Amsterdam." 

Beulah's  head  went  down  on  her  desk,  and  just  audible  were 
the  words: 

"  My  Father  in  heaven,  I  thank  Thee !  " 

Only  Clara  and  Cornelia  heard  the  broken  accents,  and  they 
looked  curiously  at  the  bow'ed  figure,  quivering  with  joy. 

"  Ah !  I  understand ;  this  is  the  asylum  Beulah  I  have  often 
heard  him  speak  of.  I  had  almost  forgotten  the  circumstance. 
You  know  him  very  well,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  Cornelia. 

"Yes,  I  knew  him  very  well."  Beulah  felt  the  blood  come 
into  her  cheeks,  and  she  ill-brooked  the  cold,  searching  look 
bent  upon  her. 


BEULAH.  21 

"  You  are  the  same  girl  tliat  he  asked  my  father  to  send  to 
the  public  school.  How  came  you  here  ?  " 

A  pair  of  dark,  gray  eyes  met  Cornelia's  gaze,  and  seemed 
to  answer  defiantly,  "  What  is  it  to  you  ? " 

"Has  Dr.  Hartwell  adopted  you?  Pauline  said  so,  hut  she 
is  so  heedless  that  I  scarcely  believed  her,  particularly  when  it 
seemed  so  very  improbable." 

Cornelia  smiled  derisively,  and  turned  off,  with  the  parting 
taunt : 

"  It  is  a  mystery  to  me  what  Eugene  can  see  in  such  a 
homely,  unpolished  specimen.  He  pities  her,  I  suppose." 

Clara  felt  a  long  shiver  creep  over  the  slight  form,  and  saw 
the  ashen  hue  that  settled  on  her  face,  as  if  some  painful 
wound  had  been  inflicted.  Stooping  down,  she  whispered: 

"  Don't  let  it  trouble  you.  Cornelia  is  hasty,  but  she  is  gen- 
erous, too,  and  will  repent  her  rudeness.  She  did  not  intend 
to  pain  you;  it  is  only  her  abrupt  way  of  expressing  herself." 

Beulah  raised  her  head,  and,  putting  back  the  locks  of  hair 
that  had  fallen  over  her  brow,  replied,  coldly: 

"  It  is  nothing  new ;  I  am  accustomed  to  such  treatment. 
Only,  professing  to  love  Eugene,  I  did  not  expect  her  to  insult 
one  whom  he  had  commissioned  her  to  assist,  or  at  least  sym- 
pathize with." 

"Eemember,  Beulah,  she  is  an  only  child,  and  her  father's 
idol,  and  perhaps " 

"  The  very  blessings  that  surround  her  should  teach  her1  to 
feel  for  the  unfortunate  and  unprotected." 

The  discussion  was  cut  short  by  a  call  to  recitation,  and 
Beulah  sank  into  a  reverie,  in  which  Eugene,  and  Heidelberg, 
and  long  letters  mingled  pleasingly.  Later  in  the  day,  as  she 
and  Pauline  were  descending  the  steps,  the  door  of  the  primary 
department  of  the  school  opened,  and  a  little  girl,  clad  in  deep 
black,  started  up  the  same  flight  of  steps.  Seeing  the  two 
above,  she  leaned  against  the  wall,  waiting  for  them  to  pass. 
Beulah  stood  still,  and  the  satchel  she  carried  fell  unheeded 
from  her  hand,  while  a  thrilling  cry  broke  from  the  little  girl's 
lips;  and,  springing  up  the  steps  she  threw  herself  into  Beu- 
lah's  arms. 

"  Dear  Beulah !  I  have  found  you  at  last !  "  She  covered 
the  thin  face  with  passionate  kisses;  then  heavy  sobs  escaped 
her,  and  the  two  wept  bitterly  together. 

"  Beulah,  I  did  love  her  very  much ;  I  did  not  forget  what 
I  promised  you.  She  used  to  put  her  arms  around  my  neck 
every  night,  and  go  to  sleep  close  to  me;  and  whenever  she 
thought  about  you  and  cried,  she  always  put  her  head  in  my 
lap.  Indeed,  I  did  love  her." 

"  I  believe  you,  Claudy,"  poor  Beulah  groaned. 

"  They  did  not  tell  me  she  was  dead ;  they  said  she  was  sick 


22  BEULAH. 

in  another  room!  Oh,  Beulah!  why  didn't  you  come  to  see  us? 
Why  didn't  you  come?  When  she  was  first  taken  sick,  she 
called  for  you  all  the  time;  and  the  evening  they  moved  me 
into  the  next  room,  she  was  asking  for  you.  '  I  want  my  sis- 
ter Beulah !  I  want  my  Beulah ! '  was  the  last  thing  I  heard 
her  say;  and  when  I  cried  for  you,  too,  mamma  said  we  were 
both  crazy  with  fever.  Oh — "  she  paused  and  sobbed  convul- 
sively. Beulah  raised  her  head,  and  while  the  tears  dried  in 
her  flashing  eyes,  said,  fiercely: 

"  Claudy,  I  did  go  to  see  you !  On  my  knees,  at  Mrs.  Gray- 
so'n's  front  door,  I  prayed  her  to  let  me  see  you.  She  refused, 
and  ordered  me  to  come  there  no  more !  She  would  not  suffer 
my  sister  to  know  that  I  was  waiting  there  on  my  knees  to  see 
her  dear,  angel  face.  That  was  long  before  you  were  taken 
sick.  She  did- not  even  send  me  word  that  Lilly  was  ill;  I 
knew  nothing  of  it  till  my  darling  was  cold  in  her  little 
shroud!  Oh,  Claudy !  Claudy !" 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  tried  to  stifle  the 
wail  that  crossed  her  lips.  Claudia  endeavored  to  soothe  her, 
by  winding  her  arms  about  her  and  kissing  her  repeatedly. 
Pauline  had  looked  wonderingly  on  during  this  painful  re- 
union ;  and  now  drawing  nearer,  she  said,  with  more  gentleness 
than  was  her  custom: 

"Don't  grieve  so,  Beulah.  Wipe  your  eyes  and  come  home; 
those  girls  yonder  are  staring  at  you." 

"  What  business  is  it  of  yours  ? "  began  Claudia ;  but  Beu- 
lah's  sensitive  nature  shrank  from  observation,  and,  rising 
hastily,  she  took  Claudia  to  her  bosom,  kissed  her,  and  turned 
away.  On  entering  the  house  they  encountered  the  doctor, 
who  was  crossing  the  hall.  He  stopped,  and  said: 

"  I  have  glad  tidings  for  you,  Beulah.  The  Morning  Star 
arrived  safely  at  Amsterdam,  and  by  this  time  Eugene  is  at 
Heidelberg." 

Beulah  stood  very  near  him,  and  answered,  tremblingly: 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  heard  it  at  school." 

He  perceived  that  something  was  amiss,  and,  untying  her 
bonnet,  looked  searchingly  at  the  sorrow-stained  face.  She 
shut  her  eyes,  and  leaned  her  head  against  him. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  child?  I  thought  you  would  be 
very  happy  in  hearing  of  Eugene's  safety." 

She  was  unable  to  reply  just  then;  and  Pauline,  who  stood 
swinging  her  satchel  to  and  fro,  volunteered  an  explanation. 

Her  uncle's  countenance  resumed  its  habitual  severity,  and, 
taking  Beulah's  hand,  he  led  her  into  that  quietest  of  all  quiet 
places,  his  study.  Seating  himself,  and  drawing  her  to  his 
side,  he  said: 

"Was  it  meeting  Claudia  that  distressed  you  so  much? 
That  child  is  very  warmly  attached  to  you.  She  raved  about 


BEULAH.  23 

you  constantly  during  her  illness.  So  did  Lilly.  I  did  not 
understand  the  relationship  then,  or  I  should  have  interfered, 
and  carried  you  to  her.  I  called  to  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson 
last  week,  to  remove  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  your  inter- 
course with  Claudia,  but  they  were  not  at  home.  I  will  ar- 
range matters  so  that  you  may  be  with  Claudia  as  often  as  pos- 
sible. You  have  been  wronged,  child,  I  know;  but  try  to  bury 
it;  it  is  all  past  now." 

"No,  sir;  it  never  will  be  past;  it  will  always  be  burning 
here  in  my  heart." 

"  I  thought  you  professed  to  believe  in  the  Bible." 

"I  do,  sir;  I  do." 

"  Then  your  belief  is  perfectly  worthless ;  for  the  Bible 
charges  you  to  'forgive  and  love  your  enemies,'  and  here  you 
are  trying  to  fan  your  hate  into  an  everlasting  flame." 

She  saw  the  scornful  curl  of  his  lips,  and,  sinking  down 
beside  him,  she  laid  her  head  on  his  knee,  and  said,  hastily: 

"  I  know  it  is  wrong,  sinful,  to  feel  toward  Mrs.  Grayson 
as  I  do.  Yes,  sir;  the  Bible  tells  me  it  is  very  sinful;  but  I 
have  been  so  miserable,  I  could  not  help  hating  her.  But  I 
will  try  to  do  so  no  more.  I  will  ask  God  to  help  me  forgive 
her."  His  face  flushed,  even  to  his  temples,  and  then  the 
blood  receded,  leaving  it  like  sculptured  marble.  Unable  or 
unwilling  to  answer,  he  put  his  hands  on  her  head,  softly, 
reverently,  as  though  he  touched  something  ethereal.  He  little 
dreamed  that,  even  then,  that  suffering  heart  was  uplifted  to 
the  Throne  of  Grace,  praying  the  Father  that  she  might  so 
live  and  govern  herself  that  he  might  come  to  believe  the 
Bible,  which  her  clear  insight  too  surely  told  her  he  despised. 

Oh!  protean  temptation.  Even  as  she  knelt,  with  her  pro-' 
tector's  hands  resting  on  her  brow,  ubiquitous  evil  suggested 
the  thought :  "  Is  he  not  kinder,  and  better,  than  anyone  you 
ever  knew?  Has  not  Mrs.  Grayson  a  pew  in  the  most  fashion- 
able church,?  Did  not  Eugene  tell  you  he  saw  her  there,  regu- 
larly, every  Sunday?  Professing  Christianity,  she  injured 
you;  rejecting  it,  he  has  guarded  and  most  generously  aided 
you.  '  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  judge. ' '  Very  dimly  all  this 
passed  through  her  mind.  She  was  perplexed  and  troubled  at 
the  confused  ideas  veiling  her  trust. 

"  Beulah,  put  on  your  other  bonnet,  and  I  will  give  you  a 
short  ride.  Hurry,  child;  I  don't  like  to  wait." 

She  was  soon  seated  beside  him  in  the  buggy,  and  Mazeppa's 
swift  feet  had  borne  them  some  distance  from  home  ere  either 
spoke.  The  road  ran  near  the  bay.  Beulah  was  watching  the 
snowy  wall  of  foam,  piled  on  either  side  of  the  prow  of  a 
schooner,  and  thinking  how  very  beautiful  it  was,  when  the 
buggy  stopped  suddenly,  and  Dr.  Hartwell  addressed  a  gen- 
tleman on  horseback: 


24  BEULAH. 

"Percy,  you  may  expect  me;  I  am  coming  as  I  promised." 

"  I  was  about  to  remind  you  of  your  engagement.  But,  Guy, 
whom  have  you  there  ?  " 

"  My  protegee  I  told  you  of.  Beulah,  this  is  Mr.  Lockhart." 
The  rider  reined  his  horse  near  her  side,  and,  leaning  forward 
as  he  raised  his  hat,  their  eyes  met.  Both  started  visibly,  and, 
extending  his  hand,  Mr.  Lockhart  said,  eagerly: 

"  Ah,  my  little  forest  friend !  I  am  truly  glad  to  find  you 
again." 

"  Pray,  Percy,  what  do  you  know  of  her  ? " 

"  Why,  Guy,  she  was  wandering  about  the  piney  woods,  near 
the  asylum,  with  two  beautiful  elves,  when  I  chanced  to  meet 
her.  She  was  singing  at  the  time.  Beulah,  I  am  glad  to  find 
you  out  again;  and  in  future,  when  I  pay  the  doctor  long 
visits,  I  shall  expect  you  to  appear  for  my  entertainment. 
Look  to  it,  Guy,  that  she  is  present.  But  I  am  fatigued 
with  my  unusual  exercise,  and  must  return  home.  Good-by, 
Beulah;  shake  hands.  I  am  going  immediately  to  my  room, 
Guy;  so  come  as  soon  as  you  can."  He  rode  slowly  on, 
while  Dr.  Hartwell  shook  the  reins,  and  Mazeppa  sprang 
down  the  road  again.  Beulah  had  remarked  a  great  altera- 
tion in  Mr.  Lockhart's  appearance.  His  genial  manner  had 
interested  her,  and,  looking  up  at  her  guardian,  she  said, 
timidly : 

"Is  he  ill,  sir?" 

"  He  has  been,  and  is  yet  quite  feeble.    Do  you  like  him?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  him,  except  that  he  spoke  to  me  one 
evening  some  months  ago.  Does  he  live  here,  sir  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  has  a  plantation  on  the  river,  but  is  here  on  a  visit 
occasionally.  Much  of  his  life  has  been  spent  in' Europe,  and 
thither  he  goes  again  very  soon." 

The  sun  had  set.  The  bay  seemed  a  vast  sheet  of  fire,  as 
the  crimson  clouds  cast  their  shifting  shadows  on  its  bosom; 
and,  forgetting  everything  else,  Beulah  leaned  out  of  the 
buggy,  and  said,  almost  unconsciously: 

"  How  beautiful !  how  very  beautiful ! "  Her  lips  were 
parted,  her  eyes  clear,  and  sparkling  with  delight.  Dr.  Hart- 
well  sighed,  and,  turning  from  the  bay  road,  approached  his 
home.  Beulah  longed  to  speak  to  him  of  what  was  pressing 
on  her  heart,  but,  glancing  at  his  countenance  to  see  whether 
it  was  an  auspicious  time,  she  was  deterred  by  the  somber 
sternness  which  overshadowed  it,  and,  before  she  could  sum- 
mon courage  to  speak,  they  stopped  at  the  front  gate: 

"  Jump  out  and  go  home ;  I  have  not  time  to  drive  in." 

She  got  out  of  the  buggy,  and,  looking  up  at  him  as  he  rose 
to  adjust  some  part  of  the  harness,  said,  bravely: 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  my  ride.  I  have  not 
had  such  a  pleasure  for  years.  I  thank  you  very  much." 


BEULAH.  25 

"  All  very  unnecessary,  child.    I  am  glad  you  enjoyed  it." 

"Excuse  me,  sir;  but  may  I  wait  in  your  study  till  you 
come  home  ?  I  want  to  ask  you  something."  Her  face  flushed, 
and  her  voice  trembled  with  embarrassment. 

"It  may  be  late  before  I  come  home  to-night.  Can't  you 
tell  me  now  what  you  want?  I  can  wait." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  to-morrow  will  do  as  well,  I  suppose.  I 
will  not  detain  you."  She  opened  the  gate  and  entered  the 
yard.  Dr.  Hartwell  looked  after  her  an  instant,  and  called 
out,  as  he  drove  on : 

"  Do  as  you  like,  Beulah,  about  waiting  for  me ;  of  course, 
the  study  is  free  to  you  at  all  times." 

The  walk,  or  rather  carriage  road,  leading  up  to  the  house 
was  bordered  by  stately  poplars  and  cedars,  whose  branches 
interlaced  overhead,  and  formed  a  perfect  arch.  Beulah  looked 
up  at  the  dark-green  depths  among  the  cedars,  and  walked  on. 
with  a  feeling  of  contentment,  nay,  almost  of  happiness,  which 
was  a  stranger  to  her  heart.  In  front  of  the  house,  and  in  the 
center  of  a  grassy  circle,  was  a  marble  basin,  from  which  a 
fountain  ascended.  She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  reservoir, 
and,  taking  off  her  bonnet,  gave  unrestrained  license  to  her 
wandering  thoughts.  Before  long,  however,  she  was  startled 
by  the  sight  of  several  elegantly-dressed  ladies  emerging  from 
the  house.  Mrs.  Chilton  stood  on  the  steps,  exchanging  smiles 
and  polite  nothings,  and  as  one  of  the  party  requested  permis- 
sion to  break  off  a  sprig  of  geranium  growing  near,  she  grace- 
fully offered  to  collect  a  bouquet,  adding,  as  she  severed  some 
elegant  clusters  of  heliotrope  and  jasmine: 

"  Guy  takes  inordinate  pride  in  his  parterre;  arranges  and 
overlooks  all  the  flowers  himself.  I  often  tell  him  I  am  jealous 
of  my  beautiful  rivals." 

"Nonsense!  we  know,  to  our  cost,  that  you,  of  all  others, 
need  fear  rivalry  from  no  quarter.  There,  don't  break  any 
more.  What  superb  taste  the  doctor  has!  I  suppose  the  fas- 
cination of  his  home  makes  him  such  a  recluse!  Why  doesn't 
he  visit  more?  He  neglects  us  shamefully  1  He  is  such  a 
favorite  in  society,  too;  only  I  believe  everybody  is  rather 
afraid  of  him.  I  shall  make  a  most  desperate  effort  to  charm 
him,  so  soon  as  the  opportunity  offers.  Don't  tell  him  I  said 
so,  though,  '  forewarned,  forearmed.'  "  All  this  was  very  volu- 
bly uttered  by  a  dashing,  showy  young  lady,  dressed  in  the 
extreme  of  fashion,  and  bearing  unmistakable  marks  of  belong- 
ing to  beau  monde. 

"I  shall  not  betray  your  designs,  Miss  Julia.  Guy  is  a 
great  lover  of  the  beautiful,  and  I  am  not  aware  that  anywhere 
in  the  book  of  fate  is  written  the  decree  that  he  shall  not 
marry  again.  Take  care,  you  are  tearing  your  lace  point  on 
that  rosebush ;  let  me  disengage  it."  She  stooped  to  rescue  the 
3  i 


26  BEULAH. 

cobweb  wrapping,  and  looking  about  her,  Miss  Julia  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Is  that  you,  Pauline  ?  Come  and  kiss  me !  Why,  you  look 
as  unsociable  as  your  uncle,  sitting  there  all  alone ! " 

She  extended  her  hand  toward  Beulah,  who,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, made  no  attempt  to  approach  her.  Mrs.  Chilton  smiled, 
and,  clasping  the  bracelet  on  her  arm,  discovered  to  her  visitor 
the  mistake. 

"  Pauline  is  not  at  home.  That  is  a  little  beggarly  orphan 
Guy  took  it  into  his  head  to  feed  and  clothe,  till  some  oppor- 
tunity offered  of  placing  her  in  a  respectable  home.  I  have 
teased  him  unmercifully  about  this  display  of  taste;  asked  him 
what  rank  he  assigned  her  in  his  catalogue  of  beautiful  treas- 
ures." She  laughed,  as  if  much  amused. 

"  Oh,  that  reminds  me  that  I  heard  some  of  the  schoolgirls 
say  that  the  doctor  had  adopted  an  orphan.  I  knew  it  must  be 
a  mistake.  Come,  Julia,  remember  you  are  going  out  to-night, 
and  it  is  quite  late.  Do  come  very  soon,  my  dear  Mrs.  Chil- 
ton."  Mrs.  Vincent,  Miss  Julia,  and  their  companions  entered 
the  carriage,  and  were  soon  out  of  sight.  Beulah  still  sat  at 
the  fountain.  As  the  carriage  disappeared,  Mrs.  Chilton  ap- 
proached her,  and,  stung  to  desperation  by  the  merciless 
taunts,  she  instantly  rose  and  confronted  her. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  after  having  been  told  to  keep 
out  of  sight  ? — answer  me !  "  she  spoke  with  the  inflexible  stern- 
ness of  a  mistress  to  an  offending  servant. 

"  Madam,  I  am  not  the  miserable  beggar  you  represented 
me  a  moment  since;  nor  will  I  answer  questions  addressed  in 
any  such  tone  of  authority  and  contempt." 

Smiling  bitterly,  she  stooped  to  pick  up  her  new  bonnet, 
which  had  fallen  on  the  grass  at  her  feet  and,  fixing  her  eyes 
defiantly  on  the  handsome  face  before  her,  said,  resolutely : 

"  No !  contemptible  as  you  think  me,  beggarly  and  wretched 
as  you  please  to  term  me,  I  have  too  much  self-respect  to  stay 
a  day  longer  where  I  have  been  so  grossly,  so  needlessly  in- 
sulted. You  need  not  seek  to  detain  me.  Take  your  hand  off 
my  arm;  I  am  going  now;  the  sooner,  the  better." 

Mrs.  Chilton  was  very  pale,  and  her  lips  were  compressed  till 
they  grew  purple.  Clinching  her  hand,  she  said : 

"  You  artful  little  wretch.  Am  -I  to  be  thwarted  by  such  a 
mere  child?  You  shall  not  quit  the  house.  Go  to  your  room, 
and  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself.  In  future  I  shall  not 
concern  myself  about  you,  if  you  take  root  at  the  front  door. 
Go  in,  and  let  matters  stand.  I  promise  you  I  will  not  inter- 
fere again,  no  matter  what  you  do.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  No,  You  have  neither  the  power  to  detain,  nor  to  expel 
me.  I  shall  leave  immediately,  and  you  need  not  attempt  to 
coerce  me;  for,  if  you  do,  I  will  acquaint  Dr.  Hartwell  with 


BEULAH.  27 

the  whole  affair,  as  soon  as  he  comes,  or  when  I  see  him.  I 
am  going  for  my  clothes;  not  those  you  so  reluctantly  had 
made,  but  the  old  garments  I  wore  when  I  worked  for  my 
bread."  She  shook  off  the  detaining  hand,  and  went  up  to  her 
room,  and,  taking  off  the  clothes  she  wore,  dressed  herself  in 
the  humble  apparel  of  former  days.  The  old  trunk  was 
scarcely  worth  keeping,  save  as  a  relic;  and  folding  up  the 
clothes  and  books  into  as  small  a  bundle  as  possible,  she  took 
it  in  her  arms,  and  descended  the  steps.  As  she  crossed  the 
common  to  the  asylum,  the  friendly  stars  looked  kindly  down 
on  the  orphan  and  seemed  to  whisper  words  of  hope  and  en- 
couragement. 

Mrs.  Williams  met  her  at  the  door  of  the  asylum,  wonder- 
ing what  unusual  occurrence  induced  a  visitor  at  this  unsea- 
sonable hour.  The  hall  lamp  shone  on  her  kind  but  anxious 
face,  and  as  Beulah  looked  at  her,  remembered  care  and  love 
caused  a  feeling  of  suffocation,  and,  with  an  exclamation  of 
joy,  she  threw  her  arms  around  her.  Astonished  at  a  greeting 
so  unexpected,  the  matron  glanced  hurriedly  at  the  face 
pressed  against  her  bosom,  and,  recognizing  her  quondam 
charge,  folded  her  tenderly  to  her  heart. 

"  Beulah,  dear  child,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !  "  As  she 
kissed  her  white  cheeks,  Beulah  felt  the  tears  dropping  down 
upon  them. 

"  Come  into  my  room,  dear,  and  take  off  your  bonnet." 

"  Mrs.  Williams,  can  I  stay  with  you  until  I  can  get  a  place 
somewhere  ?  The  managers  will  not  object,  will  they  ?  " 

"  No,  dear,  I  suppose  not.  But,  Beulah,  I  thought  you  had 
been  adopted,  just  after  Lilly  died,  by  Dr.  Hartwell?  Here 
I  have  been,  ever  since  I  heard  it  from  some  of  the  managers, 
thinking  how  lucky  it  was  for  you,  and  feeling  so  thankful  to 
God  for  remembering  His  orphans.  Child,  what  has  hap- 
pened? Tell  me  freely,  Beulah." 

With  her  head  on  the  matron's  shoulder,  she  imparted 
enough  of  what  had  transpired  to  explain  her  leaving  her 
adopted  home.  Mrs.  Williams  shook  her  head,  and  said, 
sadly : 

"You  have  been  too  hasty,  child.  It  was  Dr.  HartwelPs 
house;  he  had  taken  you  to  it,  and  without  consulting  and 
telling  him,  you  should  not  have  left  it.  If  you  felt  that 
you  could  not  live  there  in  peace  with  his  sister,  it  was  your 
duty  to  have  told  him  so,  and  then  decided  as  to  what  course 
you  would  take." 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  know  him !  If  he  knew  all  that  Mrs.  Chil- 
ton  said  and  did,  he  would  turn  her  and  Pauline  out  of  the 
house  immediately.  They  are  poor,  and  but  for  him,  could 
not  live  without  toil.  I  have  no  right  to  cause  their  ruin. 
She  is  his  sister,  and  has  a  claim  on  him.  I  have  none.  She 


28  BEULAH. 

expects  Pauline  to  inherit  his  fortune,  and  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  his  adopting  me.  I  don't  wonder  at  that  so  much. 
But  she  need  not  have  been  so  cruel,  so  insulting.  I  don't 
want  his  money,  or  his  house,  or  his  elegant  furniture.  I  only 
want  an  education,  and  his  advice,  and  his  kind  care  for  a 
few  years.  I  like  Pauline  very  much — indeed.  She  never 
treated  me  at  all  unkindly;  and  I  could  not  bear  to  bring 
misfortune  on  her,  she  is  so  happy." 

"  That  is  neither  here  nor  there.  He  will  not  hear  the  truth, 
of  course;  and  even  if  he  did,  he  will  not  suppose  you  were 
actuated  by  any  such  Christian  motive  to  shield  his  sister's 
meanness.  You  ought  to  have  seen  him  first." 

"Mrs.  Williams,  you  must  promise  me  that  you  never  will 
speak  of  what  I  have  told  you  regarding  that  conversation  with 
Mrs.  Chilton." 

"  I  promise  you,  dear,  I  never  will  mention  it,  since  you 
prefer  keeping  the  matter  secret." 

"  What  will  Dr.  Hartwell  think  of  me  ?  "  was  the  recurring 
thought,  that  would  not  be  banished;  and,  unable  to  sleep, 
Beulah  tossed  restlessly  on  her  pillow  all  night,  dreading  lest 
he  should  despise  her  for  her  seeming  ingratitude. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

FOR  perhaps  two  hours  after  Beulah's  departure,  Mrs.  Chil- 
ton wandered  up  and  down  the  parlor,  revolving  numerous 
schemes,  explanatory  of  her  unexpected  exodus.  Completely 
nonplused,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  sincerely  rued  the 
expression  of  dislike  and  contempt  which  had  driven  the  or- 
phan from  her  adopted  home;  and,  unable  to  decide  on  the 
most  plausible  solution  to  be  offered  her  brother,  she  paced 
restlessly  to  and  fro.  Engrossed  by  no  particularly  felicitous 
reflections,  she  failed  to  notice  Mazeppa's  quick  tramp,  and 
remained  in  ignorance  of  the  doctor's  return,  until  he  entered 
the  room,  and  stood  beside  her.  His  manner  was  hurried,  as 
he  said: 

"  May,  I  am  going  into  the  country  to  be  absent  all  of  to- 
morrow, and  possibly  longer.  There  is  some  surgical  work  to 
be  performed  for  a  careless  hunter,  and  I  must  start  imme- 
diately. I  want  you  to  see  that  a  room  is  prepared  for  Percy 
Lockhart.  He  is  very  feeble,  and  I  have  invited  him  to  come 
and  stay  with  me  while  he  is  in  the  city.  He  rode  out 
this  evening,  and  is  worse  from  fatigue.  Can  I  depend  upon 
you?" 

"  Certainly ;  I  will  exert  myself  to  render  his  stay  here 
pleasant;  make  yourself  easy  on  that  score."  It  was  very  evi- 


BEULAH.  29 

dent  that  the  cloud  was  rapidly  lifting  from  her  heart  and 
prospects;  but  she  veiled  the  sparkle  in  her  eye,  and,  unsus- 
picious of  anything  amiss,  her  brother  left  the  room. 

"  Percy  Lockhart  is  vulnerable  as  well  as  other  people,  and 
I  have  yet  to  see  the  man  whose  heart  will  proudly  withstand 
the  allurements  of  flattery,  provided  the  homage  is  delicately 
and  gracefully  offered." 

This  self-complacent  soliloquy  was  cut  short  by  the  appear- 
ance of  her  brother,  who  carried  a  case  of  surgical  instruments 
in  his  hand. 

"May,  tell  Beulah  I  am  sorry  I  did  not  see  her.  I  would 
go  up  and  wake  her,  but  have  not  time.  She  wished  to  ask 
me  something.  Tell  her,  if  it  is  anything  of  importance,  to 
do  just  as  she  likes;  I  will  see  about  it  when  I  come  home. 
Be  sure  you  tell  her.  Good-night;  take  care  of  Percy."  He 
turned  away,  but  she  exclaimed: 

"  She  is  not  here,  Guy.  She  asked  me  this  evening  if  she 
might  spend  the  night  at  the  asylum.  She  thought  you  would 
not  object,  and  certainly  I  had  no  authority  to  prevent  her. 
Indeed,  the  parlor  was  full  of  company,  and  I  told  her  she 
might  go  if  she  wished." 

His  face  darkened  instantly,  and  she  felt  that  he  was  search- 
ing her  with  his  piercing  eyes. 

"  All  this  sounds  extremely  improbable  to  me.  If  she  is  not 
at  home  again  at  breakfast,  take  a  carriage  and  go  after  her. 
Mind,  May !  I  will  sift  the  whole  matter  when  I  come  back." 
He  hurried  off,  and  she  breathed  freely  once  more.  Dr.  Hart- 
well  sprang  into  his  buggy,  to  which  a  fresh  horse  had  been 
attached,  and  drove  rapidly  off.  The  gate  had  been  left  open 
for  him,  and  he  was  passing  through  when  arrested  by  Har- 
riet's well-known  voice. 

"Stop,  master!     Stop  a  minute?" 

"  What  do  you  want  ?    I  can't  stop !  "  cried  he,  impatiently. 

"  Are  you  going  after  that  poor,  motherless  child  ? " 

"No.  But  what  the  devil  is  to  pay  here?  I  shall  get  at 
the  truth  now.  Where  is  Beulah?  Talk  fast." 

"  She  is  at  the  asylum  to-night,  sir.  I  followed  and  watched 
the  poor,  little  thing.  Master,  if  you  don't  listen  to  me,  if  you 
please,  sir,  you  never  will  get  at  the  truth,  for  that  child  won't 
tell  it.  I  heard  her  promise  Miss  May  she  would  not.  You 
would  be  ready  to  fight  if  you  knew  all  I  know." 

"  Why  did  Beulah  leave  here  this  evening  ? " 

"Because  Miss  May  abused  and  insulted  her;  told  her  before 
some  ladies  that  she  was  a  '  miserable  beggar '  that  you  picked 
up  at  the  hospital,  and  that  you  thought  it  was  charity  to  feed 
and  clothe  her  till  she  was  big  enough  to  work.  I  was  sewing 
at  one  of  the  windows  upstairs,  sir,  and  heard  every  word. 
When  the  folks  were  gone,  Miss  May  walks  up  to  her  and 


30  BEULAH. 

asks  her  what  she  is  doing  where  anybody  could  see  her.  Oh, 
master!  if  you  could  have  seen  that  child's  looks.  She  fairly 
seemed  to  rise  off  her  feet,  and  her  face  was  as  white  as  a 
corpse.  She  said  she  had  wanted  an  education ;  that  she  knew 
you  had  been  very  kind;  but  she  never  dreamed  of  taking  Miss 
Pauline's  place  in  your  house.  She  said  she  would  not  stay 
where  she  was  unwelcome ;  that  she  was  not  starving  when  you 
took  her  home;  that  she  knew  you  were  kind  and  good;  but 
that  she  scorned — them  were  the  very  words,  master — she 
scorned  to  stay  a  day  longer  where  she  had  been  so  insulted! 
Oh,  she  was  in  a  towering  rage  ;„  she  trembled  all  over,  and 
Miss  May  began  to  be  scared,  for  she  knew  you  would  not  suf- 
fer such  doings,  and  she  tried  to  pacify  her.  But  the  girl 
would  not  hear  to  anything  she  said,  and  told  her  she  need 
not  be  frightened,  that  she  wouldn't  go  to  you  with  the  fuss; 
she  would  not  tell  you  why  she  left  your  house.  She  went  to 
her  room  and  she  got  every  rag  of  her  old  clothes,  and  left 
the  house  with  the  tears  raining  out  of  her  eyes.  Oh,  master, 
it's  a  crying  shame !  If  you  had  only  been  here  to  hear  that 
child  talk  to  Miss  May!  Good  Lord!  how  her  big  eyes  did 
blaze  when  she  told  her  she  could  earn  a  living !  " 

'  Are  you  sure  she  is  now  at  the  asylum  ? " 

'  Yes,  sir ;  sure.7' 

'  Very  well ;  she  is  safe  then  for  the  present.  Does  anyone 
know  that  you  heard  the  conversation  ? " 

'  Not  a  soul,  sir,  except  yourself." 

'  Keep  the  matter  perfectly  quiet  till  I  come  home.  I  shall 
be  away  a  day;  meantime,  see  that  Beulah  does  not  get  out 
of  your  sight.  Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir— I  do." 

The  buggy  rolled  swiftly  on,  and  Harriet  returned  to  the 
house  by  a  circuitous  route,  surmising  that  "  Miss  May's  "  eyes 
might  detect  her  movements. 

The  same  night,  Clara  Sanders  sat  on  the  doorstep  of  her 
humble  cottage  home.  The  moonlight  crept  through  the  clus- 
tering honeysuckle  and  silvered  the  piazza  floor  with  grotesque 
fretwork,  while  it  bathed  lovingly,  the  sad  face  of  the  girlish 
watcher.  Her  chin  rested  in  her  palms,  and  the  soft  eyes  were 
bent  anxiously  on  the  countenance  of  her  infirm  and  aged 
companion. 

"  Grandpa,  don't  look  so  troubled.  I  am  very  sorry,  too, 
about  the  diploma;  but  if  I  am  not  to  have  it,  why,  there  is 
no  use  in  worrying  about  it.  Madam  St.  Cymon  is  willing 
to  employ  me  as  I  am,  and  certainly  I  should  feel  grateful 
for  her  preference,  when  there  are  several  applicants  for  the 
place.  She  told  me  that  she  thought  I  would  find  no  difficulty 
in  performing  what  would  be  required  of  me." 

There  was  silence  for  some  moments ;  then  the  old  man  rose, 


BEULAH.  31 

and,  putting  back  the  white  locks  which  had  fallen  over  his 
face,  asked,  in  a  subdued  tone: 

"  When  will  you  commence  your  work  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,  sir." 

"  God  bless  you,  Clara,  and  give  you  strength,  as  He  sees 
you  have  need."  He  kissed  her  fondly,  and  withdrew  to  his 
own  room.  She  sat  for  some  time  looking  vacantly  at  the 
mosaic  of  light  and  shade  on  the  floor  before  her,  and  striving 
to  divest  her  mind  of  the  haunting  thought  that  she  was  the 
victim  of  some  unyielding  necessity,  whose  decree  had  gone 
forth,  and  might  not  be  annulled.  In  early  childhood  her 
home  had  been  one  of  splendid  affluence;  but  reverses  came, 
thick  and  fast.  Discouraged  and  embittered,  her  father  made 
the  wine-cup  the  sepulcher  of  care,  and  in  a  few  months  found 
a  deeper  and  far  more  quiet  grave.  His  mercantile  embarrass- 
ments had  dragged  his  father-in-law  to  ruin;  and,  too  aged  to 
toil  up  the  steep  again,  the  latter  resigned  himself  to  spend- 
ing the  remainder  of  his  days  in  obscurity,  and  perhaps  want. 
To  Clara's  gifted  mother  he  looked  for  aid  and  comfort  in 
the  clouded  evening  of  life,  and  with  unceasing  'energy  she 
toiled  to  shield  her  father  and  her  child  from  actual  labor. 
When  Clara  was  about  thirteen  years  of  age,  a  distant  rela- 
tive, chancing  to  see  her,  kindly  proposed  to  contribute  the 
sum  requisite  for  affording  her  every  educational  advantage. 
The  offer  was  gratefully  accepted  by  the  devoted  mother,  and 
Clara  was  placed  at  Madam  St.  Cymon's,  where  more  than 
ordinary  attention  could  be  bestowed  on  the  languages. 

The  noble. woman,  whose  heart  had  bled  incessantly  ever  the 
misery,  ruin,  and  degradation  of  her  husband,  sank  slowly 
under  the  intolerable  burden  of  sorrows,  and  a  few  weeks  pre- 
vious to  the  evening  of  which  I  write,  folded  her  weary  hands 
and  went  home  to  rest.  In  the  springtime  of  her  girlhood, 
Clara  felt  herself  transformed  into  a  woman.  The  cousin, 
residing  in  a  distant  State,  wrote  that  pecuniary  troubles  had 
assailed  him,  and  prevented  all  further  assistance.  In  one 
more  year  she  would  have  finished  the  prescribed  course  and 
graduated  honorably;  and  more  than  all,  she  would  have  ob- 
tained a  diploma,  which  might  have  been  an  "  open  sesame  " 
to  any  post  she  aspired  to.  Thus  frustrated  in  her  plans,  she 
gladly  accepted  the  position  of  assistant  teacher  in  the  pri- 
mary department,  which,  having  become  vacant  by  the  dismis- 
sal of  the  incumbent,  madam  kindly  tendered  her. 

There  was  a  dawning  light  in  Clara's  eyes  which  showed 
that,  although  as  yet  a  mere  girl  in  years,  she  had  waked  to  the 
consciousness  of  emotions  which  belonged  to  womanhood.  Shd 
was  pretty,  and  of  course  she  knew  it,  for  I  am  skeptical  of 
those  characters  who  grow  up  to  mature  beauty,  all  unsuspicious 
of  the  fatal  dower,  and  are  some  day  startled  by  a  discovery 


32  BEULAH. 

of  their  possessions.  She  knew,  too,  that  female  loveliness 
was  an  all-potent  spell,  and,  depressing  as  were  the  circum- 
stances of  her  life  and  situation,  she  felt  that  a  brighter  lot 
might  be  hers  without  any  very  remarkable  or  seemingly  in- 
consistent course  of  events. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"HARRIET,  bring  me  a  cup  of  strong  coffee." 

Dr.  Hartwell  had  returned  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  sec- 
ond day,  and,  travel-worn  and  weary,  threw  himself  down  on 
the  sofa  in  his  study.  He  remained  for  some  time  with  closed 
eyes,  and,  when  the  coffee  was  served,  drank  it  without  com- 
ment. Harriet  busied  herself  about  the  room,  doing  various 
unnecessary  things,  and  wondering  why  her  master  did  not 
inquire  concerning  home  affairs;  finally,  having  exhausted 
every  pretext  for  lingering,  she  coughed  very  spasmodically 
once  or  twice,  and,  putting  her  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door, 
said  deferentially: 

"Do  you  want  anything  else,  sir?  The  bathroom  is  all 
ready." 

"  Has  my  sister  been  to  the  asylum  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  Go  and  arrange  Beulah's  room." 

She  retired;  and,  springing  up,  he  paced  the  floor,  striving 
to  master  the  emotion  which  so  unwontedly  agitated  him.  His 
lips  writhed,  and  the  thin  nostrils  expanded,  but  he  paused 
before  the  melodeon,  sat  down  and  played  several  pieces,  and 
gradually  the  swollen  veins  on  his  brow  lost  their  corded  ap- 
pearance, and  the  mouth  resumed  its  habitual  compression. 
Then,  with  an  exterior  as  calm  as  the  repose  of  death,  he  took 
his  hat,  and  went  toward  the  parlor.  Mr.  Lockhart  was  re- 
clining on  one  of  the  sofas,  Pauline  sat  on  an  ottoman  near 
him,  looking  over  a  book  of  prints,  and  Mrs.  Chilton,  taste- 
fully attired,  occupied  the  piano  stool.  Witching  strains  of 
music  greeted  her  brother  as  he  stopped  at  the  door  and 
looked  in.  He  entered,  and,  walking  up  to  the  invalid,  said, 
cordially : 

"How  are  you,  Percy?  better,  I  hope."  While  one  hand 
clasped  his  friend's,  the  other  was  laid  with  brotherly  freedom 
on  the  sick  man's  head. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  There  was  no  malady  in  Eden,  was 
there?  Verily,  Guy,  in  your  delightful  home,  I  am  growing 
well  again." 

"  Ah !  so  much  for  not  possessing  Ithurial's  spear.  I  am 
glad  to  find  you  free  from  fever." 


BEULAH.  33 

"  Welcome,  Guy !  I  expected  you  yesterday ;  what  detained 
you  so  long  I "  Mrs.  Chilton  approached  with  outstretched 
hand,  and  the  same  time  offered  her  lips  for  a  kiss. 

He  availed  himself  of  neither,  but,  fixing  his  eyes  intently 
on  hers,  said  as  sweetly  as  if  he  had  been  soothing  a  fretful 
child: 

"Necessity,  of  course;  but  now  that  I  have  come,  I  shall 
make  amends,  I  promise  you,  for  the  delay.  I  have  some  mat- 
ters to  arrange,  and  will  be  with  you  at  tea.  May,  I  wish  to 
see  you." 

"  Well,  Guy,  what  is  it  ? "  Without  moring  an  inch,  she 
looked  up  at  him. 

"  Come  to  my  study,"  answered  her  brother,  quietly. 

"  And  leave  your  patient  to  amuse  himself  ?  Really,  Guy, 
you  exercise  the  rites  of  hospitality  so  rarely  that  you  forget 
the  ordinary  requirements.  Apropos,  your  little  protegee  has 
not  returned.  It  seems  she  did  not  fancy  living  here,  and 
prefers  staying  at  the  asylum.  I  would  not  trouble  myself 
about  her,  if  I  were  you.  Some  people  cannot  appreciate  kind- 
ness, you  know."  She  uttered  this  piece  of  counsel  with  per- 
fect sang  froid,  and  met  her  brother's  eye  as  innocently  as 
Pauline  would  have  done. 

"  I  am  thoroughly  acquainted  with  her  objections  to  this 
place,  and  determined  to  remove  them  so  completely  that  she 
cannot  refuse  to  return." 

She  took  his  offered  arm,  and  they  proceeded  to  the  study 
in  silence. 

"  Sit  down."  Dr.  Hartwell  pushed  a  chair  toward  her,  and 
stood  looking  her  fully  in  the  face.  She  did  not  shrink,  and 
asked,  unconcernedly: 

"  Well,  Guy,  to  what  does  all  this  preamble  lead  ? " 

"May,  is  the  doctrine  of  future  punishments  laid  down  as 
orthodox  in  that  elegantly-gilded  prayer  book  you  take  with 
you  in  your  weekly  pilgrimage  to  church  ? " 

"  Come,  come,  Guy ;  if  you  have  no  respect  for  religion  your- 
self, don't  scoff  at  its  observances  in  my  presence.  It  is  very 
unkind,  and  I  will  not  allow  it."  She  rose,  with  an  air  of 
offended  dignity. 

"  Scoff !  you  wrong  me.  Why,  verily,  your  religion  is  too 
formidable  to  suffer  the  thought.  I  tell  you,  sister  mine,  your 
creed  is  a  terrible  one  in  my  eyes." 

She  grew  restless  under  his  impaling  gaze,  and  he  continued, 
mockingly : 

"  From  such  creeds !  such  practice !  Good  Lord,  deliver  us !  " 

She  turned  to  go,  but  his  hand  fell  heavily  on  her  shoulder. 

"I  am  acquainted  with  all  that  passed  between  Beulah  and 
yourself  the  evening  she  left  my  house.  I  was  cognizant  of 
the  whole  truth  before  I  left  the  city." 


34  BEULAH. 

"  Artful  wretch  ?  She  is  as  false  as  contemptible ! "  mut- 
tered the  sister,  through  set  teeth. 

"  Take  care !  do  not  too  hastily  apply  your  own  individual 
standard  of  action  to  others.  She  does  not  dream  that  I  am 
acquainted  with  the  truth,  though  doubtless  she  wonders  that, 
knowing  you  so  well,  I  should  not  suspect  it." 

"  Ah,  guided  by  your  favorite  Mephistopheles,  you  wrapped 
the  mantle  of  invisibility  about  you,  and  heard  it  all !  Eh  ?  " 

"No;  Mephistopheles  is  not  ubiquitous,  and  I  left  him  at 
home  here,  it  seems,  when  I  took  that  child  to  ride.  It  is  dif- 
ficult for  me  to  believe  you  are  my  sister! — very  difficult!  It 
is  the  most  humiliating  thought  that  could  possibly  be  sug- 
gested to  me.  May,  I  very  nearly  decided  to  send  you  and 
Pauline  out  into  the  world  without  a  dime! — without  a  cent! 
— just  as  I  found  you,  and  I  may  do  so  yet " 

"You  dare  not!  You  dare  not!  You  swore  a  solemn  oath 
to  the  dying  that  you  would  always  provide  for  us !  I  am  not 
afraid  of  your  breaking  your  vow!"  cried  Mrs.  Chilton. 

"You  give  me  credit  for  too  much  nicety.  I  tell  you  I 
would  break  my  oath  to-morrow,  nay,  to-night — for  your  du- 
plicity cancels  it — but  for  that  orphan  you  hate  so  cordially. 
She  would  never  return  if  you  and  Pauline  suffered  for  the 
past;  for  her  sake,  and  hers  only,  I  will  still  assist,  support 
you,  for  have  her  here  I  will,  if  it  cost  me  life  and  fortune! 
I  would  send  you  off  to  the  plantation,  but  there  are  no  edu- 
cational advantages  there  for  Pauline;  and  therefore,  if  Beu- 
lah  returns,  I  have  resolved  to  buy  and  give  you  a  separate 
home,  wherever  you  may  prefer.  Stay  here,  you  cannot  and 
shall  not!" 

"  And  what  construction  will  the  world  place  on  your  taking 
a  young  girl  into  your  house  at  the  time  that  I  leave  it  ?  Guy, 
with  what  marvelous  foresight  you  are  endowed ! "  said  she, 
laughing  sardonically. 

"I  shall  take  measures  to  prevent  any  improper  construc- 
tion! Mrs.  Watson,  the  widow  of  one  of  my  oldest  and  best 
friends,  has  been  left  in  destitute  circumstances,  and  I  shall 
immediately  offer  her  a  home  here,  to  take  charge  of  my  house- 
hold, and  look  after  Beulah  when  I  am  absent.  She  is  ail 
estimable  woman,  past  fifty  years  of  age,  and  her  character  is 
so  irreproachable  that  her  presence  here  will  obviate  the  objec- 
tion you  have  urged.  You  will  decide  to-night  where  you 
wish  to  fix  your  future  residence,  and  let  me  know  to-morrow. 
Do  not  imagine  that  I  am  ignorant  of  your  schemes!  I  tell 
you  now,  I  would  gladly  see  Percy  Lockhart  lowered  into  the 
grave,  rather  than  know  that  you  had  succeeded  in  blinding 
him!  Oh,  his  noble  nature  would  loathe  you,  could  he  see 
you  as  you  are!  There,  go!  or  I  shall  forget  I  am  talking  to 
a  woman — much  less  a  woman  claiming  to  be  my  sister !  Go ! 


BEULAH.  35 

go ! "  He  put  up  his  hands  as  if  unwilling  to  look  at  her, 
and,  leaving  the  room  descended  to  the  front  door.  A  large 
family  carriage,  drawn  by  two  horses,  stood  in  readiness,  and, 
seating  himself  within  it,  he  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive 
to  the  asylum.  Mrs.  Williams  met  him  at  the  entrance,  and, 
despite  her  assumed  composure,  felt  nervous  and  uncomfort- 
able, for  his  scrutinizing  look  disconcerted  her. 

"  Madam,  you  are  the  matron  of  this  institution,  I  presume. 
I  want  to  see  Beulah  Benton." 

"  Sir,  she  saw  your  carriage,  and  begs  you  will  not  insist 
upon  seeing  her;  she  does  not  wish  to  see  you." 

"  Where  is  she  ?  I  shall  not  leave  the  house  until  I  do  see 
her." 

She  saw  from  his  countenance  that  it  was  useless  to  contend. 
Secretly  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  reconciliation,  the  matron 
no  longer  hesitated,  and,  pointing  to  the  staircase,  said: 

"  She  is  in  the  first  right-hand  room." 

He  mounted  the  steps,  opened  the  door,  and  entered.  Beulah 
was  standing  by  the  window;  she  had  recognized  his  step,  and 
knew  that  he  was  in  the  room,  but  felt  as  if  she  would  not 
meet  his  eye  for  the  universe.  He  approached,  and  stood  look- 
ing at  the  drooped  face;  then  his  soft,  cool  touch  was  on  her 
head,  and  he  said,  in  his  peculiar,  low,  musical  tones : 

"  Proud  little  spirit,  come  home  and  be  happy." 

She  shook  her  head,  saying  resolutely: 

"  I  cannot ;  I  have  no  home.  I  could  not  be  happy  in  your 
house." 

"  You  can  be  in  future.  Beulah,  I  know  the  whole  truth  of 
this  matter;  how  I  discovered  it  is  no  concern  of  yours — you 
have  not  broken  your  promise.  Now,  mark  me,  I  make  your 
return  to  my  house  the  condition  of  my  sister's  pardon.  I  am 
not  trifling !  If  you  persist  in  leaving  me,  I  tell  you  solemnly 
I  will  send  her  and  Pauline  out  into  the  world  to  work  for 
their  daily  bread,  as  you  want  to  do!  If  you  will  come  back, 
I  will  give  them  a  comfortable  home  of  their  own  wherever 
they  may  prefer  to  live,  and  see  that  they  are  always  well 
cared  for.  I  want  you  to  come  back;  I  ask  you  to  come  with 
me  now.  I  am  lonely;  my  house  is  dark  and  desolate;  come, 
my  child,  come ! "  He  held  her  hands  in  his,  and  drew  her 
gently  toward  him.  She  looked  eagerly  into  his  face,  and,  as 
she  noted  the  stern  sadness  that  marred  its  noble  beauty,  the 
words  of  his  sister  flashed  upon  her  memory:  He  had  been 
married!  Was  it  the  loss  of  his  wife  that  had  so  darkened 
his  elegant  home? — that  gave  such  austerity  to  the  compara- 
tively youthful  face?  She  gazed  into  the  deep  eye  till  she 
grew  dizzy,  and  answered,  indistinctly: 

"  Will  you  always  treat  Pauline  just  as  kindly  as  if  you 
had  never  taken  me  to  your  house  ?  " 


36  BEULAH. 

"  Except  having  a  separate  home,  she  shall  never  know  any 
difference.  I  promise  you  this.  What  else  ? " 

"  Will  you  let  me  go  to  the  public  school  instead  of  Madam 
St.  Cymon's?" 

"Why,  pray?" 

"  Because  the  tuition  is  free." 

"  You  do  not  expect  to  depend  on  me  always,  then  ? " 

"  No,  sir ;  only  till  I  am  able  to  teach.  If  you  are  willing 
to  do  this,  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  back,  very  glad;  but  not  unless 
you  are."  She  looked  as  firm  as  her  guardian. 

"  Better  stipulate  also  that  you  are  to  wear  nothing  more 
expensive  than  a  bit  of  calico."  He  seemed  much  amused. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  am  not  jesting  at  all.  If  you  will  take  care 
of  me  while  I  am  educating  myself,  I  shall  be  very  grateful 
to  you;  but  I  am  not  going  to  be  adopted." 

"  Very  well.  Then  I  will  try  to  take  care  of  you.  I  have 
signed  your  treaty;  are  you  ready  to  come  home." 

"  Yes,  sir;  glad  to  come." 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

THREE  years  passed  swiftly,  unmarked  by  any  incidents  of 
interest,  and  one  dreary  night  in  December,  Beulah  sat  in  Dr. 
Hartwell's  study,  wondering  what  detained  him  so  much  later 
than  usual.  The  lamp  stood  on  the  tea  table,  and  the  urn 
awaited  the  master's  return.  The  room,  with  its  books,  statues, 
paintings,  and  melodeon,  was  unaltered,  but  time  had  materi- 
ally changed  the  appearance  of  the  orphan.  She  had  grown 
tall,  and  the  mazarine-blue  merino  dress  fitted  the  slender  form 
with  scrupulous  exactness.  The  luxuriant  black  hair  was 
combed  straight  back  from  the  face,  and  wound  into  a  cir- 
cular knot,  which  covered  the  entire  back  of  the  head,  and  gave 
a  classical  outline  to  the  whole.  The  eyelashes  were  longer 
and  darker,  the  complexion  had  lost  its  sickly  hue,  and,  though 
there  was  no  bloom  on  the  cheeks,  they  were  clear  and  white. 
Before  her  lay  a  book  on  geometry;  and,  engrossed  by  study, 
she  was  unobservant  of  Dr.  Hartwell's  entrance.  Walking  up 
to  the  grate,  he  warmed  his  fingers,  and  then,  with  his  hands 
behind  him,  stood  still  on  the  rug  regarding  his  protegee  at- 
tentively. The  colorless  face  seemed  as  if  chiseled  out  of  ivory, 
and  stern  gravity  blended  with  bitterness,  was  enthroned  on 
the  lofty,  unfurrowed  brow.  He  looked  at  the  girl  intently, 
as  he  would  have  watched  a  patient  to  whom  he  had  adminis- 
tered a  dubious  medicine,  and  felt  some  curiosity  concerning 
the  result. 

"  Beulah,  put  up  your  book  and  make  the  tea,  will  you  ? " 


BEULAH.  37 

She  started  up,  and,  seating  herself  before  the  urn,  said, 
joyfully : 

"  Good-evening !  I  did  not  know  you  had  come  home.  You 
look  cold,  sir." 

"  Yes,  it  is  deucedly  cold ;  and,  to  mend  the  matter,  Ma- 
zeppa  must  needs  slip  on  the  ice  in  the  gutter,  and  lame  him- 
self. Knew,  too,  I  should  want  him  again  to-night."  He  drew 
a  chair  to  the  table  and  received  the  tea  from  her  hand,  for 
it  was  one  of  his  whims  to  dismiss  Mrs.  Watson  and  the  serv- 
ants at  this  meal. 

"  Who  is  so  ill  as  to  require  a  second  visit  to-night  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  quiet,  little  Quakefr  friend  of  yours,  Clara  San- 
ders, will  probably  lose  her  grandfather  this  time.  He  had  a 
second  paralytic  stroke  to-day." 

"Are  any  of  Clara's  friends  with  her?"  asked  Beulah. 

"  Some  two  or  three  of  the  neighbors.    What  now  ? " 

"  I  am  going  to  go  with  you  when  you  return." 

"  And  if  I  will  not  carry  you  ?  "  he  answered,  questioningly. 

"  Then,  sir,  though  sorry  to  disobey  you,  I  shall  be  forced 
to  walk  there." 

"  So  I  supposed.    You  may  get  ready." 

"  Thank  you."  She  hurried  off  to  wrap  up  for  the  ride,  and 
acquaint  Mrs.  Watson  with  the  cause  of  her  temporary  ab- 
sence. On  reentering  the  study  she  found  the  doctor  lying 
on  the  sofa,  with  one  hand  over  his  eyes;  without  removing 
it,  he  tossed  a  letter  to  her,  saying: 

"  There  is  a  letter  from  Heidelberg.  I  had  almost  forgotten 
it.  You  will  have  time  to  read  it;  the  buggy  is  not  ready." 
He  moved  his  fingers  slightly,  so  as  to  see  her  distinctly,  while 
she  tore  off  the  envelope  and  perused  it.  At  first  she  looked 
pleased ;  then  her  black  eyebrows  met  over  the  nose,  and,  as  she 
refolded  it,  there  was  a  very  decided  curl  in  the  compressed 
upper  lip.  She  put  it  into  her  pocket  without  comment. 

"Eugene  is  well,  I  suppose?"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  sir,  quite  well." 

"  Does  he  seem  to  be  improving  his  advantages  ? " 

"  I  should  judge  not,  from  the  tone  of  this  letter." 

"What  does  it  indicate?" 

"  That  he  thinks  of  settling  down  into  mercantile  life  on 
his  return;  as  if  he  needed  to  go  to  Germany  to  learn  to-  keep 
books."  She  spoke  hastily  and  with  much  chagrin. 

"You  intend  to  annihiliate  that  plebeian  project  of  his, 
then?" 

"  His  own  will  must  govern  him,  sir ;  over  that  I  have  no 
power." 

"  Still  you  will  use  your  influence  in  favor  of  a  learned 
profession  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  if  I  have  any." 


38  BEULAH. 

"  Take  care  your  ambitious  pride  does  not  ruin  you  both ! 
Be  so  good  as  to  give  me  my  fur  gauntlets  out  of  the  drawer 
of  my  desk.  That  will  do;  come." 

The  ride  was  rather  silent.  He  was  to  her  as  inexplicable 
as  ever.  She  felt  that  the  barrier  which  divided  them,  instead 
of  melting  away  with  long  and  intimate  acquaintance,  had 
strengthened  and  grown  impenetrable.  Kind  but  taciturn,  she 
knew  little  of  his  opinions  on  any  of  the  great  questions  which 
began  to  agitate  her  own  mind.  For  rather  more  than  three 
years  they  had  spent  their  evenings  together;  she  in  studying; 
he  in  reading  or  writing.  Of  his  past  life  she  knew  absolutely 
nothing,  for  no  unguarded  allusion  to  it  ever  escaped  his  lips. 
As  long  as  she  had  lived  in  his  house,  he  had  never  mentioned 
his  wife's  name,  and  but  for  his  sister's  words  she  would  have 
been  utterly  ignorant  of  his  marriage.  He  had  most  scrupu- 
lously avoided  all  reference  to  matters  of  faith;  she  had  en- 
deavored several  times  to  direct  the  conversation  to  religious 
topics,  but  he  adroitly  eluded  her  efforts,  and  abstained  from 
any  such  discussion;  and  though  on  Sabbath  she  generally  ac- 
companied Mrs.  Watson  to  church,  he  never  alluded  to  it. 
She  revered  and  admired  him;  nay,  she  loved  him;  but  it  was 
more  earnest  gratitude  than  genuine  affection.  Love  casteth 
out  fear,  and  most  certainly  she  feared  him.  She  had  entered 
her  seventeenth  year,  and  feeling  that  she  was  no  longer  a 
child,  her  pride  sometimes  rebelled  at  the  calm,  commanding 
manner  he  maintained  toward  her. 

They  found  Clara  kneeling  beside  her  insensible  grand- 
father, while  two  or  three  middle-aged  ladies  sat  near  the 
hearth,  talking  in  undertones.  Beulah  put  her  arm  tenderly 
around  her  friend  ere  she  was  aware  of  her  presence,  and  the 
cry  of  blended  woe  and  gladness  with  which  Clara  threw  her- 
self on  Beulah's  bosom  told  her  how  well-timed  that  presence 
was.  Three  years  of  teaching  and  care  had  worn  the  slight 
young  form,  and  given  a  troubled,  strained,  weary  look  to  the 
fair  face.  Thin,  pale  and  tearful,  she  clung  to  Beulah,  and 
asked,  in  broken  accents,  what  would  become  of  her  when  the 
aged  sleeper  was  no  more. 

"  Our  good  God  remains  to  you,  Clara.  I  was  a  shorn  lamb, 
and  He  tempered  the  winds  for  me.  I  was  very  miserable, 
but  He  did  not  forsake  me." 

Clara  looked  at  the  tall  form  of  the  physician,  and  while 
her  eyes  rested  upon  him  with  a  species  of  admiration,  she 
murmured : 

"  Yes,  you  have  been  blessed  indeed !  You  have  him.  He 
guards  and  cares  for  your  happiness,  but  I,  oh,  I  am  alone !  " 

"  You  told  me  he  had  promised  to  be  your  friend.  Kest 
assured  he  will  prove  himself  such,"  answered  Beulah,  watch- 
ing Clara's  countenance  as  she  spoke. 


BEULAH.  39 

"Yes,  I  know;  but — "  She  paused,  and  averted  her  head, 
for  just  then  he  drew  near,  and  said,  gravely : 

"  Beulah,  take  Miss  Clara  to  her  own  room,  and  persuade 
her  to  rest.  I  shall  remain  probably  all  night;  at  least  until 
some  change  takes  place." 

"  Don't  send  me  away,"  pleaded  Clara,  mournfully. 

"  Go,  Beulah,  it  is  for  her  own  good."  She  saw  that  he  was 
unrelenting,  and  complied  without  opposition.  In  the  seclu- 
sion of  her  room  she  indulged  in  a  passionate  burst  of  grief, 
and  thinking  it  was  best  thus  vented,  Beulah  paced  up  and 
down  the  floor,  listening  now  to  the  convulsive  sobs,  and  now 
to  the  rain  which  pelted  the  window  panes.  She  was  two 
years  younger  than  her  companion,  yet  she  felt  she  was  im- 
measurably stronger.  Often  during  their  acquaintance  a  pain- 
ful suspicion  had  crossed  her  mind ;  as  often  she  had  banished 
it,  but  now  it  haunted  her  with  a  pertinacity  which  she  could 
not  subdue.  Gradually  dim  conjecture  became  sad  conviction, 
and  she  was  conscious  of  a  degree  of  pain  and  sorrow  for 
which  she  could  not  readily  account.  If  Clara  loved  Dr.  Hart- 
well,  why  should  it  grieve  her?  Suppose  he  was  double  her 
age;  if  Clara  loved  him  notwithstanding,  what  business  was 
it  of  hers?  Besides,  no  one  would  dream  of  the  actual  dis- 
parity in  years,  for  he  was  a  very  handsome  man,  and  certainly 
did  not  look  more  than  ten  years  older.  Midnight  passed; 
two  o'clock  came;  and  then  at  three  a  knock  startled  the 
watchers.  Clara  sprang  to  the  door;  Dr.  Hartwell  pointed  to 
the  sick  room,  and  said,  gently: 

"  He  has  ceased  to  suffer.    He  is  at  rest." 

She  looked  at  him  vacantly  an  instant,  and  whispered,  under 
her  breath :  "  He  is  not  dead  ?  " 

He  did  not  reply,  and  with  a  frightened  expression,  she 
glided  into  the  chamber  of  death,  calling  piteously  on  the 
sleeper  to  come  back  and  shield  her.  Beulah  would  have  fol- 
lowed, but  the  doctor  detained  her. 

"  Not  yet,  child.    Not  yet." 

"  Are  you  going  home  now,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  you  must  stay  with  that  poor  girl  yonder.  Can't 
you  prevail  on  her  to  come  and  spend  a  few  days  with  you  ? " 

"I  rather  think  not,"  answered  Beulah,  resolved  not  to  try. 

"You  look  pale,  my  child.  Watching  is  not  good  for  you. 
It  is  a  long  time  since  you  have  seen  death.  Strange  that 
people  will  not  see  it  as  it  is.  Passing  strange." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  said  she,  striving  to  interpret  the 
smile  that  wreathed  his  lips. 

"  You  will  not  believe  if  I  tell  you.  '  Life  is  but  the  germ 
of  Death,  and  Death  the  development  of  a  higher  Life.' " 

The  day  which  succeeded  was  very  gloomy,  and  after  the 
funeral  rites  had  been  performed,  and  the  second  day  looked 


40  BEULAH. 

in,  Beulah's  heart  rejoiced  at  the  prospect  of  returning  home, 
Clara  shrank  from  the  thought  of  being  left  alone,  the  little 
cottage  was  so  desolate.  She  would  give  it  up  now,  of  course, 
and  find  a  cheap  boarding-house;  but  the  furniture  must  be 
rubbed  and  sent  down  to  an  auction-room,  and  she  dreaded 
the  separation  from  all  the  objects  which  linked  her  with  the 
past. 

"  Clara,  I  have  been  commissioned  to  invite  you  to  spend 
several  days  with  me,  until  you  can  select  a  boarding-house. 
Dr.  Hartwell  will  be  glad  to  have  you  come." 

"  Oh,  how  good,  how  noble  he  is !  Beulah,  you  are  lucky, 
lucky,  indeed."  She  dropped  her  head  on  her  arms. 

"  Clara,  I  believe  there  is  less  difference  in  our  positions 
than  you  seem  to  imagine.  We  are  both  orphans,  and  in  about 
a  year  I,  too,  shall  be  a  teacher.  Dr.  Hartwell  is  my  guardian 
and  protector,  but  he  will  be  a  kind  friend  to  you  also." 

"  Beulah,  you  are  mad,  to  dream  of  leaving  him,  and  turn- 
ing teacher!  I  am  older  than  you,  and  have  traveled  over  the 
very  track  that  you  are  so  eager  to  set  out  upon.  With  all 
your  boasted  strength,  you  are  but  a  woman;  you  have  a 
woman's  heart,  and  one  day  will  be  unable  to  hush  its  hungry 
cries." 

"  Then  I  will  crush  it ;  so  help  me  Heaven ! "  answered 
Beulah. 

"No;  sorrow  will  do  that  time  enough;  no  suicidal  effort 
will  be  necessary."  For  the  first  time,  Beulah  marked  an  ex- 
pression of  bitterness  in  the  usually  gentle,  quiet  countenance. 
She  was  pained  more  than  she  chose  to  evince,  and  seeing  Dr. 
Hartwell's  carriage  at  the  door,  prepared  to  return  home. 

"Tell  him  that  I  am  very  grateful  for  his  kind  offer;  that 
his  friendly  remembrance  is  dear  to  a  bereaved  orphan.  Ah, 
Beulah!  I  have  known  him  from  my  childhood,  and  he  has 
always  been  a  friend  as  well  as  a  physician.  During  my 
mother's  long  illness,  he  watched  her  carefully  and  constantly, 
and  when  we  tendered  him  the  usual  recompense  for  his  serv- 
ices, he  refused  all  remuneration,  declaring  he  had  only  been 
a  friend.  He  knew  we  were  poor,  and  could  ill  afford  any 
expense.  Oh,  do  you  wonder  that  I —  Are  you  going  imme- 
diately? Come  often  when  I  get  to  a  boarding-house.  Do, 
Beulah!  I  am  so  desolate;  so  desolate." 

"  Yes,  I  will  come  as  often  as  I  can ;  and,  Clara,  do  try  to 
cheer  up.  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  sink  down  in  this  way."  She 
kissed  the  tearful  face,  and  hurried  away. 

It  was  Saturday,  and  retiring  to  her  own  room,  she  answered 
Eugene's  brief  letter.  Long  before  she  had  seen  with  painful 
anxiety  that  he  wrote  more  and  more  rarely,  and  while  his 
communications  clearly  conveyed  the  impression  that  he  fan- 
cied they  were  essential  to  her  happiness,  the  protective  tender- 


BEULAH.  41 

ness  of  early  years  gave  place  to  a  certain  commanding,  yet 
condescending  tone.  More  than  once  she  had  been  troubled 
by  a  dawning  consciousness  of  her  own  superiority,  but  accus- 
tomed for  years  to  look  up  to  him  as  a  sort  of  infallible  guide, 
she  would  not  admit  the  suggestion,  and  tried  to  keep  alive 
the  admiring  respect  with  which  she  had  been  wont  to  defer 
to  his  judgment.  With  the  brush  of  youthful  imagination, 
she  had  painted  him  as  the  future  statesman — gifted,  popular, 
and  revered;  and  while  visions  of  his  fame  and  glory  flitted 
before  her  the  promise  of  sharing  all  with  her  was  by  no 
means  the  least  fascinating  feature  in  her  fancy  picture.  Of 
late,  however,  he  had  ceased  to  speak  of  the  choice  of  a  pro- 
fession, and  mentioned  vaguely  Mr.  Graham's  wish  that  he 
should  acquaint  himself  thoroughly  with  French,  German,  and 
Spanish,  in  order  to  facilitate  the  correspondence  of  the  firm 
with  foreign  houses.  She  felt  that  once  embarked  on  the  sea 
of  mercantile  life,  he  would  have  little  leisure  or  inclination 
to  pursue  the  paths  which  she  hoped  to  travel  by  his  side, 
and,  on  this  occasion,  her  letter  was  longer  and  more  earnest 
than  usual,  urging  his  adherence  to  the  original  choice  of  the 
law,  and  using  every  forcible  argument  she  could  adduce. 
Finally,  the  reply  was  sealed  and  directed,  and  she  went  down 
to  the  study  to  place  it  in  the  marble  receiver  which  stood  on 
her  guardian's  desk.  Hal,  who  accompanied  the  doctor  in  his 
round  of  visits,  always  took  their  letters  to  the  post  office,  and 
punctually  deposited  all  directed  to  them  in  the  vase.  To  her 
surprise  she  found  no  fire  in  the  grate.  The  blinds  were  drawn 
closely,  and  while  she  wondered  at  the  aspect  of  the  room,  Har- 
riet entered. 

"  Miss  Beulah,  do  you  know  how  long  master  expects  to  be 
gone?  I  thought,  maybe,  you  could  tell  when  you  came  home, 
for  Mrs.  Watson  does  not  seem  to  know  any  more  than  I  do." 

"  Gone !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Don't  you  know  he  has  gone  up  the  river  to  the  planta- 
tion? Why,  I  packed  his  valise  at  daylight  yesterday,  and 
he  left  in  the  early  morning  boat.  He  has  not  been  to  the 
plantation  since  just  before  you  came  here.  Hal  says  he  heard 
him  tell  Dr.  Asbury  to  take  charge  of  his  patients,  that  his 
overseer  had  to  be  looked  after." 

Harriet  moved  about  the  room  with  cheerful  alacrity.  She 
had  always  seemed  to  consider  herself  Beulah's  special  guard- 
ian and  friend,  and  gave  continued  proof  of  the  strength  of 
her  affection.  Evidently  she  desired  to  talk  about  her  mas- 
ter, but  Beulah's  face  gave  her  no  encouragement  to  proceed. 
She  made  several  efforts  to  renew  the  conversation,  but  she 
withdrew,  muttering  to  herself:  . 

"  She  is  learning  all  his  ways.  He  does  hate  to  talk  any 
more  than  he  can  help,  and  she  is  patterning  after  him  just 
4  i 


42  BEULAH. 

as  fast  as  she  can.     They  don't  seem  to  know  what  the  Lord 
gave  them  tongues  for." 

Beulah  practiced  perseveringly,  for  some  time,  and  then 
drawing  a  chair  near  the  grate,  sat  down  and  leaned  her  head 
on  her  hand.  She  missed  her  guardian — wanted  to  see  him — 
felt  surprised  at  his  sudden  departure,  and  mortified  that  he 
had  not  thought  her  of  sufficient  consequence  to  bid  adieu  to, 
and  be  apprised  of  his  intended  trip.  He  treated  her  precisely 
as  he  did  when  she  first  entered  the  house;  seemed  to  consider 
her  a  mere  child,  whereas  she  knew  she  was  no  longer  such. 
He  never  alluded  to  her  plan  of  teaching,  and  when  she 
chanced  to  mention  it,  he  offered  no  comment,  looked  indif- 
ferent or  abstracted.  Though  invariably  kind,  and  sometimes 
humorous,  there  was  an  impenetrable  reserve  respecting  him- 
self, his  past  and  future,  which  was  never  laid  aside.  With 
an  ambitious  nature,  and  an  eager  thirst  for  knowledge,  Beu- 
lah had  improved  her  advantages  as  only  those  do  who  have 
felt  the  need  of  them.  While  she  acquired,  with  unusual  ease 
and  rapidity,  the  branches  of  learning  taught  at  school,  she 
had  availed  herself  of  the  extensive  and  select  library  to  which 
she  had  free  access,  and  history,  biography,  travels,  essays  and 
novels  had  been  perused  with  singular  avidity.  Dr.  Hartwell, 
without  restricting  her  reading,  suggested  the  propriety  of  in- 
corporating more  of  the  poetic  element  in  her  course.  The 
hint  was  timely,  and  induced  an  acquaintance  with  the  great 
bards  of  England  and  Germany,  although  her  taste  led  her  to 
select  works  of  another  character. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  WEEK  later,  at  the  close  of  a  dull  winter  day,  Beulah 
6at,  as  usual,  in  the  study.  The  large  parlors  and  dining-room 
had  a  desolate  look  at  all  times,  and  of  the  whole  house,  only 
the  study  seemed  genial.  Busily  occupied  during  the  day,  it 
was  not  until  evening  that  she  realized  her  guardian's  absence. 
No  tidings  of  him  had  been  received,  and  she  began  to  wonder 
at  his  prolonged  stay.  Another  Saturday  had  come,  and  all 
day  she  had  been  with  Clara  in  her  new  home,  trying  to  cheer 
the  mourner.  At  dusk  she  returned  home,  spent  an  hour  at 
the  piano,  and  now  walked  up  and  down  the  study,  rapt  in 
thought.  The  room  had  a  cozy,  comfortable  aspect;  the  fire 
burned  brightly;  the  lamplight  silvered  the  paintings  and 
statues;  and  on  the  rug  before  the  grate  lay  a  huge  black 
dog  of  the  St.  Bernard  order,  his  shaggy  head  thrust  between 
his  paws. 

The  great  black  eyes  gazed  intently  into  hers,  and  seemed 


BEULAH.  43 

to  echo,  "  when  will  he  come  ? "  He  lifted  his  grim  head, 
snuffed  the  air,  listened,  and  sullenly  dropped  his  face  on  his 
paws  again.  Beulah  threw  herself  on  the  rug,  and  laid  her 
head  on  his  thick  neck;  he  gave  a  quick,  short  bark  of 
satisfaction,  and  very  soon  both  girl  and  dog  were  fast  asleep. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  glided  by,  and  then  Beulah  was  suddenly 
roused  by  a  violent  motion  of  her  pillow.  Charon  sprang  up, 
and  leaped  frantically  across  the  room.  The  comb  which  con- 
fined her  hair  had  fallen  out,  and  gathering  up  the  jetty  folds 
which  swept  over  her  shoulders,  she  looked  around.  Dr.  Hart- 
well  was  closing  the  door. 

"Down,  Charon;  you  ebon  scamp!  Down,  you  keeper  of 
Styx ! "  He  forced  down  the  paws  from  his  shoulders,  and 
patted  the  shaggy  head.  As  he  threw  down  his  gloves,  his 
eyes  fell  on  Beulah,  who  had  hastily  risen  from  the  rug,  and 
he  held  out  his  hand,  saying: 

"  Ah !  Charon  waked  you  rudely.    How  are  you  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,  sir.  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come 
home ;  so  glad ! "  She  took  his  cold  hand  between  both  hers, 
rubbed  it  vigorously,  and  looked  up  joyfully  in  his  face.  She 
thought  he  was  paler  and  more  haggard  than  she  had  ever 
seen  him;  his  hair  clustered  in  disorder  about  his  forehead; 
his  whole  aspect  was  weary  and  wretched. 

"  Are  you  well,  Beulah  ?  Your  face  is  flushed,  and  you  feel 
feverish." 

"Perfectly  well.  But  you  are  as  cold  as  an  Esquimaux 
hunter.  Come  to  the  fire."  She  drew  his  armchair,  with  its 
candle  stand  and  book  board,  close  to  the  hearth,  and  put  his 
warm,  velvet  slippers  before  him.  She  forgot  her  wounded 
pride;  forgot  that  he  had  left  without  even  bidding  her  good- 
by;  and  only  remembered  that  he  had  come  home  again;  that 
he  was  sitting  there  in  the  study,  and  she  would  be  lonely  no 
more.  Silently  leaning  back  in  the  chair,  he  closed  his  eyes 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  She  felt  as  if  she  would  like  very  much 
to  smooth  off  the  curling  hair  that  lay  thick  and  damp  on  his 
white,  gleaming  brow,  but  dared  not.  She  stood  watching  him 
for  a  moment,  and  said,  considerately: 

"  Will  you  have  your  tea  now  ?  Charon  and  I  had  our  sup- 
per long  ago." 

"  No,  child ;  I  only  want  to  rest." 

Beulah  fancied  he  spoke  impatiently.  Had  she  been  too 
officious  in  welcoming  him  to  his  own  home?  She  bit  her  lip 
with  proud  vexation,  and,  taking  her  geometry,  left  him.  As 
she  reached  the  door,  the  doctor  called  to  her: 

"  Sit  down,  my  child ;  sit  down." 

Too  proud  to  discover  how  much  she  was  piqued  by  his  cold- 
ness, she  took  the  seat  and  commenced  studying.  But  lines 
and  angles  swam  confusedly  before  her,  and,  shutting  the  book, 


44  BEULAH. 

she  sat  looking  into  the  fire.  While  her  eyes  roamed  into  the 
deep,  glowing  crevices  of  the  coals,  a  letter  was  hurled  into 
the  fiery  mass,  and  in  an  instant  blazed  and  shriveled  to  ashes. 
She  looked  up  in  surprise,  and  started  at  the  expression  of  her 
guardian's  face.  Its  Antinoiis-like  beauty  had  vanished;  the 
pale  lips  writhed,  displaying  the  faultless  teeth;  the  thin  nos- 
trils were  expanded,  and  the  eyes  burned  with  fierce  anger. 

"  Idiot !  blind  lunatic !    In  his  dotage !  " 

There  was  something  so  marvelous  in  this  excited,  angry 
manifestation  that  Beulah,  who  had  never  before  seen  him 
other  than  phlegmatic,  looked  at  him  with  curious  wonder. 
His  clinched  hand  rested  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  he  con- 
tinued, sarcastically : 

"  Oh,  a  precious  pair  of  idiots !  They  will  have  a  glorious 
life.  Such  harmony,  such  congeniality!  Such  incomparable 
sweetness,  on  her  part;  such  equable  spirits  on  his!  Not  the 
surpassing  repose  of  a  windless  tropic  night  can  approach  to 
the  divine  serenity  of  their  future.  Ha!  by  the  Furies!  he 
will  have  an  enviable  companion ;  a  matchless  Griselda ! " 
Laughing  scornfully,  he  started  up  and  strode  across  the  floor. 
He  approached  her,  and  she  felt  as  though  her  very  soul 
shrank  from  him ;  his  glowing  eyes  seemed  to  burn  her  face,  as 
he  paused  and  said,  ironically: 

"Can't  you  participate  in  my  joy?  I  have  a  new  brother- 
in-law.  Congratulate  me  on  my  sister's  marriage.  Such  des- 
perate good  news  can  come  but  rarely  in  a  lifetime." 

"Whom  has  she  married,  sir?"  asked  Beulah. 

"  Percy  Lockhart,  of  course.  He  will  rue  his  madness.  I 
warned  him.  Now  let  him  seek  apples  in  the  orchards  of 
Sodom !  Let  him  lay  his  parched  lips  to  the  treacherous  waves 
of  the  Dead  Sea!  Oh,  I  pity  the  fool!  I  tried  to  save 
him,  but  he  would  seal  his  own  doom.  Let  him  pay  the  usur- 
ious school  fees  of  experience." 

"  Perhaps  your  sister's  love  for  him  will " 

"  Oh,  you  young,  ignorant  lamb !  You  poor,  little  unfledged 
birdling!  I  suppose  you  fancy  she  is  really  attached  to  him. 
Do  you,  indeed?  About  as  much  as  that  pillar  of  salt  in  the 
plain  of  Sodom  was  attached  to  the  memory  of  Lot.  About 
as  much  as  this  peerless  Niobe  of  mine  is  attached  to  me." 
He  struck  the  marble  statue  as  he  spoke. 

"Then,  how  could  she  marry  him?"  asked  Beulah,  naively. 

"  Ha !  ha !  I  will  present  you  to  the  Smithsonian  Institu- 
tion as  the  last  embodiment  of  effete  theories.  Who  exhumed 
you,  patron  saint  of  archism,  from  the  charnelhouse  of  cen- 
turies ?  "^  He  looked  down  at  her  with  an  expression  of  intol- 
erable bitterness  and  scorn.  Her  habitually  pale  face  flushed 
to  crimson,  as  she  answered,  with  sparkling  eyes: 

"  Not  the  hands  of  Diogenes,  encumbered  with  his  tub ! " 


BEULAH.  45 

He  smiled  grimly. 

"Know  the  world  as  I  do,  child,  and  tubs  and  palaces  will 
be  alike  to  you.  Feel  the  pulse  of  humanity." 

"  Heaven  preserve  me  from  looking  on  life  through  your 
spectacles ! "  cried  she,  impetuously. 

"Amen."  Taking  his  hands  from  her  shoulder,  he  threw 
himself  back  into  his  chair.  There  was  silence  for  some  min- 
utes, and  Beulah  said: 

"  I  thought  Mr.  Lockhart  was  in  Syria  ? " 

"  Oh,  no ;  he  wants  a  companion  in  his  jaunt  to  the  Holy 
Land.  How  devoutly  May  will  kneel  on  Olivet  and  Moriah! 
What  pious  tears  will  stain  her  lovely  cheek  as  she  stands  in 
the  hall  of  Pilate,  and  calls  to  mind  all  the  thirty  years'  his- 
tory! Oh!  Percy  is  cruel  to  subject  her  tender  soul  to  such 
torturing  associations.  Beulah,  go  and  play  something.  Any- 
thing to  hush  my  cursing  mood.  Go,  child."  He  turned  away 
his  face  to  hide  its  bitterness,  and,  seating  herself  at  the  me- 
lodeon,  Beulah  played  a  German  air,  of  which  he  was  very 
fond.  At  the  conclusion,  he  merely  said: 

"  Sing." 

A  plaintive  prelude  followed  the  command,  and  she  sang. 
"No  description  could  do  justice  to  the  magnificent  voice,  as 
it  swelled  deep  and  full  in  its  organlike  tones;  now  thrillingly 
low  in  its  wailing  melody,  and  now  ringing  clear  and  sweet 
as  silver  bells.  There  were  soft,  rippling  notes,  that  seemed 
to  echo  from  the  deeps  of  her  soul  and  voice  its  immensity* 
It  was  wonderful  what  compass  there  was;  what  rare  sweet- 
ness and  purity,  too.  It  was  a  natural  gift,  like  that  conferred 
on  birds.  Art  could  not  produce  it,  but  practice  and  scientific 
culture  had  improved  and  perfected  it.  For  three  years  the 
best  teachers  had  instructed  her,  and  she  felt  that  now  she 
was  mistress  of  a  spell  which,  once  invoked,  might  easily  ex- 
orcise the  evil  spirit  which  had  taken  possession  of  her  guard- 
ian. She  sang  several  of  his  favorite  songs,  then  closed  the 
melodeon,  and  went  back  to  the  fire.  Dr.  Hartwell's  face  lay 
against  the  purple  velvet  lining  of  the  chair,  and  the  dark 
surface  gave  out  the  contour  with  bold  distinctness.  His  eyes 
were  closed,  and  as  Beulah  watched  him,  she  thought :  "  How 
inflexible  he  looks,  how  like  a  marble  image.  The  mouth  seems 
as  if  the  sculptor's  chisel  had  just  carved  it ;  so  stern,  so  stony. 
Ah !  he  is  not  scornful  now ;  he  looks  only  sad,  uncomplaining, 
but  very  miserable.  What  has  steeled  his  heart,  and  made  him 
so  unrelenting,  so  haughty?  What  can  have  isolated  him  so 
completely?  Nature  lavished  on  him  every  gift  which  could 
render  him  the  charm  of  social  circles,  yet  he  lives  in  the 
seclusion  of  his  own  heart,  independent  of  sympathy,  con- 
temptuous of  the  world  he  was  sent  to  improve  and  bless." 


46  BEULAH. 

CHAPTER  XL 

THAT  evening  Beulah  was  idly  fingering  the  keys  of  the 
piano  when  Dr.  Hartwell  entered,  with  a  parcel  in  one  hand 
and  a  magnificent  cluster  of  greenhouse  flowers  in  the  other. 
He  laid  the  latter  before  Beulah,  and  said: 

"  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  to-night  to  hear  Sontag.  The 
concert  commences  at  eight  o'clock,  and  you  have  no  time  to 
spare.  Here  are  some  flowers  for  your  hair;  arrange  it  as  you 
have  it  now;  and  here,  also,  a  pair  of  white  gloves.  When  you 
are  ready,  come  down  and  make  my  tea." 

The  prospect  of  hearing  Sontag  gave  her  exquisite  pleasure, 
and  she  dressed  with  trembling  eagerness,  while  Harriet 
leaned  on  the  bureau  and  wondered  what  would  happen  next. 
Except  to  attend  church  and  visit  Clara  and  Mrs.  Williams, 
Beulah  had  never  gone  out  before;  and  the  very  seclusion  in 
which  she  lived  rendered  this  occasion  one  of  interest  and 
importance.  As  she  took  her  cloak  and  ran  downstairs,  the 
young  heart  throbbed  violently. 

She  poured  out  the  tea  with  an  unsteady  hand.  Dr.  Hart- 
well  scanned  her  closely,  and  an  expression  of  satisfaction  set- 
tled on  his  features.  She  wore  a  dark-blue  silk  (one  he  had 
given  her  some  weeks  before),  which  exquisitely  fitted  her  slen- 
der, graceful  figure,  and  was  relieved  by  a  lace  collar,  fastened 
with  a  handsome  cameo  pin,  also  his  gift.  The  glossy,  black 
hair,  was  brushed  straight  back  from  the  face,  in  accordance 
with  the  prevailing  style,  and  wound  into  a  knot  at  the  back 
of  the  head.  On  either  side  of  this  knot  she  wore  a  superb 
white  camelia,  which  contrasted  well  with  the  raven  hair.  Her 
face  was  pale,  but  the  expression  was  one  of  eager  expecta- 
tion. As  the  carriage  rattled  up  to  the  door,  he  put  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder,  and  said: 

"  You  look  very  well  to-night,  my  child.  Those  white  ja- 
ponicas  become  you."  She  breathed  freely  once  more. 

At  the  door  of  the  concert  hall  he  gave  her  his  arm,  and 
she  clung  to  him  with  a  feeling  of  dependence  utterly  new  to 
her.  Everybody  knew  Dr.  Hartwell,  and  she  saw  him  con- 
stantly returning  the  bows  of  recognition  which  assailed  him 
from  the  ladies  in  their  vicinity.  Presently  he  leaned  his  head 
on  his  hand,  and  she  could  not  forbear  smiling  when  her  at- 
tention was  attracted  by  a  party  which  just  then  took  their 
places  immediately  in  front  of  her.  It  consisted  of  an  elderly 
gentleman  and  two  ladies,  one  of  whom  Beulah  instantly 
recognized  as  Cornelia  Graham.  She  was  now  a  noble-looking, 
rather  than  beautiful  woman ;  and  the  incipient  pride,  so  ap- 
parent in  girlhood,  had  matured  into  almost  repulsive  hau- 
teur. Chancing  to  look  back,  she  perceived  Dr.  Hartwell, 
bowed,  and  said,  with  a  smile : 


BEULAH.  47 

"Pray,  do  not  think  me  obstinate;  I  had  no  wish  to  come, 
but  father  insisted." 

"  I  am  glad  you  feel  well  enough  to  be  here,"  was  his  care- 
less reply. 

Cornelia's  eyes  fell  upon  the  quiet  figure  at  his  side,  and  as 
Beulah  met  her  steady  gaze,  she  felt  something  of  her  old 
dislike  warming  in  her  eyes.  They  had  never  met  since  the 
morning  of  Cornelia's  contemptuous  treatment  at  Madam  St. 
Cymon's;  and  now,  to  Beulah's  utter  astonishment,  she  delib- 
erately turned  round,  put  out  her  white-gloved  hand,  over  the 
back  of  the  seat,  and  said,  energetically: 

"How  are  you,  Beulah?  You  have  altered  so  materially, 
that  I  scarcely  knew  you." 

Beulah's  nature  was  generous;  she  was  glad  to  forget  old 
injuries;  and  as  their  hands  met,  she  answered: 

"  You  have  changed  but  little." 

"And  that  for  the  worse,  as  people  have  a  pleasant  way  of 
telling  me.  Beulah,  I  want  to  know,  honestly,  if  my  rudeness 
caused  you  to  leave  madam's  school  ? " 

"  That  was  not  my  only  reason,"  replied  Beulah. 

At  this  moment  a  burst  of  applause  greeted  the  appearance 
of  the  cantatrice,  and  all  conversation  was  suspended.  Beulah 
listened  to  the  warbling  of  the  queen  of  song  with  a  thrill  of 
delight.  Passionately  fond  of  music,  she  appreciated  the  bril- 
liant execution  and  entrancing  melody  as  probably  very  few 
in  that  crowded  house  could  have  done.  When  Sontag  left  the 
stage,  Beulah  looked  up,  with  a  long  sigh  of  delight,  and 
murmured : 

"Oh,  sir!  isn't  she  a  glorious  woman?" 

"  Miss  Graham  is  speaking  to  you,"  he  said,  coolly. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  saw  the  young  lady's  eyes  riveted 
on  her  countenance. 

"  Beulah,  when  did  you  hear  from  Eugene  ? " 

"  About  three  weeks  since,  I  believe." 

"  We  leave  for  Europe  day  after  to-morrow ;  shall,  perhaps, 
go  directly  to  Heidelberg.  Have  you  any  commissions?  any 
messages  ? "  Under  the  mask  of  seeming  indifference,  she 
watched  Beulah  intently,  as,  shrinking  from  the  cold,  search- 
ing eyes,  the  latter  replied: 

"  Thank  you,  I  have  neither  to  trouble  you  with." 

Again  the  prima  donna  appeared  on  the  stage,  and  again 
Beulah  forgot  everything  but  the  witching  strains.  In  the 
midst  of  one  of  the  songs,  she  felt  her  guardian  start  violently. 
Following  the  direction  of  his  gaze,  she  saw  that  it  was  fas- 
tened on  a  gentleman  who  sat  at  some  little  distance  from, 
them.  His  entire  appearance  was  foreign,  and  conveyed  the 
idea  of  reckless  dissipation.  Evidently  he  came  there,  not  for 
the  music,  but  to  scan  the  crowd,  and  his  fierce  eyes  roamed 


48  BEULAH. 

over  the  audience  with  a  daring  impudence  which  disgusted 
her.  Suddenly  they  rested  on  her  own  face,  wandered  to  Dr. 
Hartwell's,  and  lingering  there  a  full  moment,  with  a  look  of 
defiant  hatred,  returned  to  her,  causing  her  to  shudder  at  the 
intensity  and  freedom  of  his  gaze.  But  the  spell  of  enchant- 
ment was  broken;  she  could  hear  the  deep,  irregular  breathing 
of  her  guardian,  and  knew,  from  the  way  in  which  he  stared 
down  on  the  floor,  that  he  could,  with  difficulty,  remain  quietly 
in  his  place.  She  was  glad  when  the  concert  ended  and  the 
mass  of  heads  began  to  move  toward  the  door.  They  were 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  chattering  groups,  and  while  the 
light  was  too  faint  to  distinguish  faces,  these  words  fell  on 
her  ear  with  painful  distinctness:  "I  suppose  that  was  Dr. 
Hartwell's  protegee  he  had  with  him.  He  is  a  great  curiosity. 
Think  of  a  man  of  his  age  and  appearance  settling  down  as  if 
he  were  sixty  years  old,  and  adopting  a  beggarly  orphan.  She 
is  not  at  all  pretty.  What  can  have  possessed  him  ? " 

"  No,  not  pretty,  exactly ;  but  there  is  something  odd  in  her 
appearance.  Her  brow  is  magnificent,  and  I  should  judge  she 
was  intellectual.  She  is  colorless  as  a  ghost.  No  accounting 
for  Hartwell;  ten  to  one  he  will  marry  her.  I  have  heard  it 
surmised  that  he  was  educating  her  for  a  wife — "  Here  the 
party  who  were  in  advance  vanished,  and  as  he  approached  the 
carriage,  Dr.  Hartwell  said,  coolly: 

"  Another  specimen  of  democracy." 

Beulah  felt  as  if  a  lava  tide  surged  madly  in  her  veins,  and 
as  the  carriage  rolled  homeward,  she  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands.  Wounded  pride,  indignation  and  contempt,  strug- 
gled violently  in  her  heart.  For  some  moments  there  was 
silence;  then  her  guardian  drew  her  hands  from  her  face,  held 
them  firmly  in  his,  and  said  gravely: 

"  Beulah,  malice  and  envy  love  lofty  marks.  Learn,  as  I 
have  done,  to  look  down  with  scorn  from  the  summit  of  indif- 
ference upon  the  feeble  darts  aimed  from  the  pits  beneath  you. 
My  child,  don't  suffer  the  senseless  gossip  of  the  shallow  crowd 
to  wound  you." 

"  Oh,  sir !  you  are  not  invulnerable  to  these  wounds ;  how, 
then,  can  I,  an  orphan  girl,  receive  them  with  indifference  ? " 

"  Ah !  you  observed  my  agitation  to-night.  But  for  a  vow 
made  to  my  dying  mother,  that  villain's  blood  had  long  since 
removed  all  grounds  of  emotion.  Six  years  ago  he  fled  from 
me,  and  his  unexpected  reappearance  to-night  excited  me  more 
than  I  had  fancied  it  was  possible  for  anything  to  do."  His 
voice  was  as  low,  calm  and  musical  as  though  he  were  reading 
aloud  to  her  some  poetic  tale  of  injuries;  and  in  the  same 
even,  quiet  tone,  he  added: 

"  It  is  well.    All  have  a  Nemesis." 

"Not  on  earth,  sir." 


BEULAH.  49 

"Wait  till  you  have  lived  as  long  as  I,  and  you  will  think 
with  me.  Beulah,  be  careful  how  you  write  to  Eugene  of  Cor- 
nelia Graham;  better  not  mention  her  name  at  all.  If  she 
lives  to  come  home  again,  you  will  understand  me." 

"  Is  not  her  health  good  ?  "  asked  Beulah,  in  surprise. 

"  Far  from  it.  She  has  a  disease  of  the  heart,  which  may 
end  her  existence  any  moment.  I  doubt  whether  she  ever  re- 
turns to  America.  Mind,  I  do  not  wish  you  to  speak  of  this 
to  anyone.  Good-night.  If  you  are  up  in  time  in  the  morn- 
ing, I  wish  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  cut  some  of  the  choicest 
flowers  in  the  greenhouse,  and  arrange  a  handsome  bouquet, 
before  breakfast.  I  want  to  take  it  to  one  of  my  patients,  an 
old  friend  of  my  mother." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THAT  year  of  study  rolled  swiftly  away;  another  winter 
came  and  passed;  another  spring  hung  its  verdant  drapery 
over  earth,  and  now  ardent  summer  reigned  once  more.  It 
was  near  the  noon  of  a  starry  July  night  that  Beulah  sat  in 
her  own  room  beside  her  writing  desk.  To-morrow  the  session 
of  the  public  school  would  close  with  an  examination  of  its 
pupils;  to-morrow  she  would  graduate,  and  deliver  the  vale- 
dictory to  the  graduating  class.  She  had  just  finished  copying 
her  address.  Dr.  Hartwell  had  been  absent  since  noon,  but 
now  she  detected  the  whir  of  wheels  in  the  direction  of  the 
carriage  house,  and  knew  that  he  was  in  the  study.  She  gath- 
ered up  her  hair,  which  hung  loosely  about  her  shoulders,  she 
confined  it  with  a  comb,  and  glided  noiselessly  down  the  steps. 
The  lamplight  gleamed  through  the  open  door,  and  pausing 
on  the  threshold,  she  asked: 

"  May  I  come  in  for  a  few  minutes,  or  are  you  too  much 
fatigued  to  talk?" 

"  Beulah,  I  positively  forbade  your  sitting  up  this  late.  It 
is  midnight,  child;  go  to  bed." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  I  want  to  ask  you  something." 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  Will  you  attend  the  exercises  to-morrow  ? " 

"  Child,  I  shall  not  have  leisure." 

"  Be  honest,  and  say  that  you  have  not  sufficient  interest." 

"  Have  you  sent  in  your  name  as  an  applicant  for  a  situa- 
tion?" 

"  I  have." 

"Good-night."  His  tone  was  stern,  and  she  immediately 
retreated.  IJnable  to  sleep,  she  passed  the  remaining  hours  of 
the  short  night  in  pacing  the  floor.  The  time  had  come  when 
she  must  go  out  into  the  world,  and  depend  only  upon  herself; 


50  BEULAH. 

and  though  she  was  anxious  to  commence  the  work  she  had 
assigned  herself,  she  shrank  from  the  thought  of  quitting  her 
guardian's  home  and  thus  losing  the  only  companionship  she 
really  prized.  He  had  not  sought  to  dissuade  her;  had  ap- 
peared perfectly  indifferent  to  her  plans,  and  this  unconcern 
had  wounded  her  deeply.  Morning  dawned,  and  she  hailed  it 
gladly;  breakfast  came,  and  she  took  hers  alone;  the  doctor 
had  already  gone  out  for  the  day.  At  ten  o'clock  the  academy 
was  crowded  with  visitors,  and  the  commissioners  and  teachers 
were  formidably  arrayed  on  the  platform  raised  for  this  pur- 
pose. The  examination  began;  Greek  and  Latin  classes  were 
carefully  questioned,  and  called  on  to  parse  and  scan  to  a 
tiresome  extent;  then  came  mathematical  demonstrations. 
Every  conceivable  variety  of  lines  and  angles  adorned  the 
blackboards;  and  next  in  succession  were  classes  in  rhetoric 
and  natural  history.  At  length,  at  a  signal  from  the  superin- 
tendent of  the  department,  Beulah  ascended  the  platform,  and, 
surrounded  by  men  signalized  by  scholarship  and  venerable 
from  age,  she  began  her  address.  She  wore  a  white  mull  mus- 
lin, and  her  glossy,  black  hair  was  arranged  with  the  severe 
simplicity  which  characterized  her  style  of  dress.  Her  face  was 
well-nigh  as  colorless  as  the  paper  she  held,  and  her  voice  fal- 
tered with  the  first  few  sentences. 

The  theme  was  "Female  Heroism,"  and  she  sought  among 
the  dusky  annals  of  the  past  for  instances  in  confirmation  of 
her  predicate,  that  female  intellect  ,was  capable  of  the  most 
exalted  attainments.  Quitting  the  fertile  fields  of  history,  she 
painted  the  trials  which  hedge  woman's  path,  and  with  un- 
erring skill  defined  her  peculiar  sphere,  her  true  position.  The 
reasoning  was  singularly  forcible,  the  imagery  glowing  and 
gorgeous,  and  occasional  passages  of  exquisite  pathos  drew 
tears  from  her  fascinated  audience;  while  more  than  once  a 
beautiful  burst  of  enthusiasm  was  received  with  flattering  ap- 
plause. As  the  last  words  passed  her  lips,  she  glanced  swiftly 
over  the  sea  of  heads,  and  perceived  her  guardian  leaning  with 
folded  arms  against  a  pillar,  while  his  luminous  eyes  ware  fas- 
tened on  her  face.  A  flash  of  joy  irradiated  her  countenance, 
and,  bending  her  head  amid  the  applause  of  the  assembly,  she 
retired  to  her  seat.  The  crowd  slowly  dispersed,  and  beckoned 
forward  once  more,  Beulah  confronted  the  august  committee 
whose  prerogative  it  was  to  elect  teachers.  A  certificate  was 
handed  her,  and  the  chairman  informed  her  of  her  election  to 
a  vacant  post  in  the  intermediate  department.  The  salary  was 
six  hundred  dollars,  to  be  paid  monthly,  and  her  duties  would 
commence  with  the  opening  of  the  next  session,  after  two 
months'  vacation.  She  bowed  in  silence,  and  turned  away  to 
collect  her  books.  Her  guardian  approached,  and  said,  in  a 
low  voice: 


BEULAH.  51 

"Put  on  your  bonnet  and  come  down  to  the  side  gate.  It 
is  too  warm  for  you  to  walk  home." 

Without  waiting  for  her  answer,  he  descended  the  steps,  and 
she  was  soon  seated  beside  him  in  the  buggy.  The  short  ride 
was  silent,  and,  on  reaching  home,  Beulah  would  have  gone 
immediately  to  her  room,  but  the  doctor  called  her  into  the 
study,  and,  as  he  rang  the  bell,  said,  gently: 

"  You  look  very  much  exhausted ;  rest  here,  while  I  order  a 
glass  of  wine." 

It  was  speedily  brought,  and,  having  iced  it,  he  held  it  to 
hBr  white  lips.  She  drank  the  contents,  and  her  head  sank  on 
the  sofa  cushions.  The  fever  of  excitement  was  over,  a  feeling 
of  lassitude  stole  over  her,  and  she  soon  lost  all  consciousness 
in  a  heavy  sleep.  The  sun  was  just  setting  as  she  awakened 
from  her  slumber.  The  lamp  and  her  guardian  made  their 
appearance  at  the  same  moment,  and,  throwing  himself  down 
in  one  corner  of  the  sofa,  the  latter  asked: 

"  How  are  you  since  your  nap  ?  A  trifle  less  ghastly,  I 
see." 

"  Much  better,  thank  you,  sir.  My  head  is  quite  clear 
again." 

"  Clear  enough  to  make  out  a  foreign  letter?"  He  took  one 
from  his  pocket  and  put  it  in  her  hand. 

An  anxious  look  flitted  across  her  face,  and  she  glanced 
rapidly  over  the  contents,  then  crumpled  the  sheet  nervously 
in  her  fingers. 

"What  is  the  matter  now?" 

"  He  is  coming  home.  They  will  all  be  here  in  November." 
She  spoke  as  if  bitterly  chagrined  and  disappointed. 

"Most  people  would  consider  that  joyful  news,"  said  the 
doctor,  quietly. 

"  What !  after  spending  more  than  five  years  (one  of  them 
in  traveling),  to  come  back  without  having  acquired  a  pro- 
fession, and  settle  down  into  a  mere  walking  ledger!  To  have 
princely  advantages  at  his  command,  and  yet  throw  them 
madly  to  the  winds  and  be  content  to  plod  along  the  road  of 
mercantile  life,  without  one  spark  of  ambition,  when  his 
mental  endowments  would  justify  his  aspiring  to  the  most 
exalted  political  stations  in  the  land." 

"  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that  you  might  have  overes- 
timated Eugene's  abilities  ? " 

"  Sir,  you  entertained  a  flattering  opinion  of  them  when  he 
left  here."  She  could  animadvert  upon  his  fickleness,  but  did 
not  choose  that  others  should  enjoy  the  same  privilege. 

"  I  by  no  means  considered  him  an  embryo  Webster,  or  Cal- 
houn;  never  looked^  on  him  as  an  intellectual  prodigy.  He 
had  a  good  mind,  a  handsome  face,  and  frank,  gentlemanly 
manners,  which,  in  the  aggregate,  impressed  me  favorably." 


52  BEULAH. 

Beulah  bit  her  lips,  and  stooped  to  pat  Charon's  head.  There 
was  silence  for  some  moments,  and  then  the  doctor  asked: 

"  Does  he  mention  Cornelia's  health  ?  " 

"  Only  once,  incidentally.  I  judge  from  the  sentence  that 
she  is  rather  feeble.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  unimportant  chat 
about  a  lady  they  have  met  in  Florence." 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Antoinette  Dupres." 

Beulah  was  still  caressing  Charon,  and  did  not  observe  the 
purplish  glow  which  bathed  the  doctor's  face  at  the  mention 
of  the  name.  She  only  saw  that  he  rose  abruptly,  and  walked 
to  the  window,  where  he  stood  until  tea  was  brought  in.  As 
they  left  the  table,  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Beulah,  I  congratulate  you  on  your  signal  success  to-day. 
Your  valedictory  made  me  proud  of  my  protegee."  She  had 
put  her  hand  in  his,  and  looked  up  in  his  face,  but  the  cloudy 
splendor  of  the  eyes  was  more  than  she  could  bear,  and  drop- 
ing  her  head  a  little,  she  answered: 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Beulah,  I  think  you  owe  me  something  for  taking  care  of 
you,  as  you  phrased  it  long  ago.  Do  you  admit  the  debt  ? " 

"Most  gratefully,  sir!  I  admit  that  I  can  never  liquidate 
it;  I  can  repay  you  only  with  the  most  earnest  gratitude." 
Large  tears  hung  upon  her  lashes,  and,  with  an  uncontrollable 
impulse,  she  raised  his  hand  to  her  lips. 

"  I  am  about  to  test  the  sincerity  of  your  gratitude." 

She  trembled,  and  looked  at  him  uneasily.  He  laid  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder,  and  said,  slowly: 

"  Relinquish  the  idea  of  teaching.  Let  me  present  you  to 
society  as  my  adopted  child.  Thus  you  can  requite  the  debt." 

"  I  cannot !  I  cannot !  "  cried  Beulah,  firmly. 

"Cannot?  cannot?"  repeated  the  doctor,  pressing  heavily 
upon  her  shoulders. 

"  Will  not,  then !  "  said  she,  proudly. 

They  looked  at  each  other  steadily.  A  withering  smile  of 
scorn  and  bitterness  distorted  his  Apollo-like  features,  and  he 
pushed  her  from  him,  saying,  in  the  deep,  concentrated  tone 
of  intense  disappointment: 

"  I  might  have  known  it.  I  might  have  expected  it ;  for  fate 
has  always  decreed  me  just  such  returns." 

Leaning  against  the  sculptured  Niobe,  which  stood  near, 
Beulah  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  great  anguish: 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Hartwell !  do  not  make  me  repent  the  day  I  en- 
tered this  house.  You  knew  that  I  came  here  only  to  be  edu- 
cated. Even  then  I  could  not  bear  the  thoughts  of  always 
imposing  on  your  generosity;  and  every  day  that  passed 
strengthened  this  impatience  of  dependence.  Through  your 
kindness,  it  is  now  in  my  power  to  maintain  myself,  and,  after 


BEULAH.  53 

the  opening  of  next  session,  I  cannot  remain  longer  the  re- 
cipient of  your  bounty.  Oh,  sir,  do  not  charge  me  with  ingrat- 
itude !  It  is  more  than  I  can  bear ;  more  than  I  can  bear !  " 

"Mark  me,  Beulah!  Your  pride  will  wreck  you;  wreck 
your  happiness,  your  peace  of  mind.  Already  its  iron  hand 
is  crushing  your  young  heart.  Beware,  lest,  in  yielding  to 
its  decrees,  you  become  the  hopeless  being  a  similar  course 
has  rendered  me.  But  why  should  I  warn  you?  Have  not 
my  prophecies  ever  proved  Cassandran?  Leave  me." 

"  No,  I  will  not  leave  you  in  anger."  She  drew  near  him, 
and  took  his  hand  in  both  hers. 

"  My  guardian,  would  you  urge  me  to  remain,  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  cannot  be  happy  here?  I  think  not." 

"  Urge  you  to  remain  ?  By  the  furies,  no.  I  urge  you  to  go ! 
Yes,  go.  I  no  longer  want  you  here.  Your  presence  would 
irritate  me  beyond  measure.  But  listen  to  me:  I  am  going 
to  New  York  on  business;  had  intended  taking  you  with  me. 
I  shall  start  to-morrow  evening — rather  earlier  than  I  expected 
— and  shall  not  return  before  September,  perhaps  even  later. 
What  your  plans  are,  I  shall  not  inquire,  but  it  is  my  request 
that  you  remain  in  this  house,  under  Mrs.  Watson's  care,  until 
your  school  duties  commence ;  then  you  will,  I  suppose,  remove 
elsewhere.  Remember  that  in  coming  years,  when  trials  assail 
you,  if  you  need  a  friend,  I  will  still  assist  you.  You  will 
leave  me  now,  if  you  please,  as  I  have  some  letters  to  write." 
He  motioned  her  away,  and,  unable  to  frame  any  reply,  she 
left  the  room. 

Though  utterly  miserable,  now  that  her  guardian  seemed  so 
completely  estranged,  her  proud  nature  rebelled  at  his  stern 
dismissal,  and  a  feeling  of  reckless  defiance  speedily  dried 
the  tears  on  her  cheek.  Weary  in  mind  and  body,  she  fell 
asleep,  and  soon  forgot  all  her  plans  and  sorrows.  The  sun 
was  high  in  the  heavens  when  Harriet  waked  her,  and,  start- 
ing up,  she  asked : 

"  What  time  is  it  ?    How  came  I  to  sleep  so  late  ?  " 

"  It  is  eight  o'clock.  Master  ate  breakfast  an  hour  ago. 
Look  here,  child;  what  is  to  pay?  Master  is  going  off  to  the 
North,  to  be  gone  till  October.  He  sat  up  all  night,  writing, 
and  giving  orders  about  things  on  the  place.  He  has  not  been 
in  such  a  way  since  seven  years  ago.  What  is  in  the  wind 
now?  What  ails  him?" 

"He  told  me  last  night  that  he  expected  to  leave  home  this 
evening;  that  he  was  going  to  New  York  on  business." 

"  Going  this  evening !  Why,  child,  he  has  gone.  Told  us 
all  good-by,  from  Mrs.  Watson  down  to  Charon.  Said  his 
trunk  must  be  sent  down  to  the  wharf  at  three  o'clock ;  that 
he  would  not  have  time  to  come  home  again.  There,  good 
gracious!  you  are  as  white  as  a  sheet;  I  will  fetch  you  some 


54  BEULAH. 

wine."  She  hurried  out,  and  Beulah  sank  into  a  chair,  stunned 
by  the  intelligence. 

When  Harriet  proffered  a  glass  of  cordial,  she  declined  it, 
and  said,  composedly: 

"I  will  come  after  a  while  and  take  my  breakfast.  There 
is  no  accounting  for  your  master's  movements.  I  would  as 
soon  engage  to  keep  up  with  a  comet.  There,  let  go  my  dress; 
I  am  going  into  the  study  for  a  while."  She  went  slowly 
down  the  steps,  and,  locking  the  door  of  the  study  to  prevent 
intrusion,  looked  around  the  room.  There  was  an  air  of  con- 
fusion, as  though  books  and  chairs  had  been  hastily  moved 
about.  On  the  floor  lay  numerous  shreds  of  crape,  and,  glanc- 
ing up,  she  saw,  with  surprise,  that  the  portrait  had  been 
closely  wrapped  in  a  sheet,  and  suspended  with  the  face  to 
the  wall.  Instantly  an  uncontrollable  desire  seized  her  to  look 
at  that  face.  She  had  always  supposed  it  to  be  his  wife's  like- 
ness, and  longed  to  gaze  upon  the  features  of  one  whose  name 
her  husband  had  never*  mentioned.  She  stood  on  the  marble 
mantel,  and  stretched  her  hands  eagerly  up;  but,  though  her 
fingers  touched  the  cord,  she  could  not  disengage  it  from  the 
hook,  and,  with  a  sensation  of  keen  disappointment,  she  was 
forced  to  abandon  the  attempt.  A  note  on  the  desk  attracted 
her  attention;  it  was  directed  to  her,  and  contained  only  a 
few  words: 

Accompanying  this  is  a  purse  containing  a  hundred  dollars.  In 
any  emergency  which  the  future  may  present,  do  not  hesitate  to 
call  on  YOUR  GUABDIAJ*. 

s 

She  laid  her  head  down  on  his  desk,  and  sobbed  bitterly. 
For  the  first  time  she  realized  that  he  had,  indeed,  gone — 
gone  without  one  word  of  adieu,  one  look  of  kindness  or  recon- 
ciliation. Her  tortured  heart  whispered :  "  Write  him  a 
note;  ask  him  to  come  home;  tell  him  you  will  not  leave  his 
house."  But  pride  answered :  "  He  is  a  tyrant ;  don't  be  grieved 
at  his  indifference;  he  is  nothing  to  you;  go  to  work  boldly, 
and  repay  the  money  you  have  cost  him."  Gradually  an  ex- 
pression of  proud  defiance  settled  on  her  features;  she  took 
the  purse,  walked  up  to  her  room,  and  put  on  her  bonnet  and 
mantle.  Descending  to  the  breakfast-room,  she  drank  a  cup 
of  coffee,  and,  telling  Mrs.  Watson  she  would  be  absent  an 
hour  or  two,  left  the  house  and  proceeded  to  Madam  St.  Cy- 
mon's.  She  asked  to  see  Miss  Sanders,  and,  after  waiting  a 
few  minutes  in  the  parlor,  Clara  made  her  appearance.  She 
looked  wan  and  weary,  but  greeted  her  friend  with  a  gentle 
smile. 

"  I  heard  of  your  triumph  yesterday,  Beulah,  and  most  sin- 
cerely congratulate  you." 


BEULAH.  55 

"  I  am  in  no  mood  for  congratulations  just  now.  Clara,  did 
you  not  tell  me,  a  few  days  since,  that  the  music  teacher  of 
this  establishment  was  ill,  and  that  Madam  St.  Cymon  was 
anxious  to  procure  another  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  have  no  idea  she  will  ever  be  well  again.  If  strong 
enough,  she  is  going  back  to  her  family,  in  Philadelphia,  next 
week.  Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  I  want  to  get  the  situation,  and  wish  you  would  say  to 
madam  that  I  have  called  to  see  her  about  it.  I  will  wait 
here  till  you  speak  to  her." 

"  Beulah,  are  you  mad  ?  Dr.  Hartwell  never  will  consent  to 
your  teaching  music,"  cried  Clara. 

"Dr.  Hartwell  is  not  my  master,  Clara  Sanders!  Will  you 
speak  to  madam,  or  shall  I  have  to  do  it  ? " 

"  Oh,  Beulah !  you  may  live  to  rue  your  rashness." 

To  Madam  St.  Cymon  the  proposal  was  singularly  oppor- 
tune. She  had  given  the  former  teacher  six  hundred  dollars 
a  year,  and  would  allow  Miss  Benton  eighty  dollars  for  the 
two  months.  Beulah  was  agreeably  surprised  at  the  ample  re- 
muneration, and,  having  arranged  the  hours  of  her  attendance 
at  the  school,  she  took  leave  of  the  principal.  Clara  called  to 
her  as  she  reached  the  street;  and  assuming  a  gayety  which, 
just  then,  was  very  foreign  to  her  real  feelings,  Beulah  an- 
swered : 

"It  is  all  arranged.  I  shall  take  tea  with  you  in  my  new 
home,  provided  Mrs.  Hoyt  can  give  me  a  room."  She  kissed 
her  hand,  and  hurried  away.  Mrs.  Hoyt  found  no  difficulty 
in  providing  a  room;  and,  to  Beulah's  great  joy,  managed  to 
have  a  vacant  one  adjoining  Clara's. 

It  was  too  warm  to  walk  home  again,  and  Beulah  called  a 
carriage.  The  driver  had  not  proceeded  far,  when  a  press  of 
vehicles  forced  him  to  pause  a  few  minutes.  They  happened 
to  stand  near  the  post  office,  and,  as  Beulah  glanced  at  the 
eager  crowd  collected  in  front,  she  started  violently  on  per- 
ceiving her  guardian.  He  stood  on  the  corner,  talking  to  a 
gentleman  of  venerable  aspect,  and  she  saw  that  he  looked 
harassed.  She  was  powerfully  impelled  to  beckon  him  to  her, 
and  at  least  obtain  a  friendly  adieu,  but  again  pride  prevailed. 
He  had  deliberately  left  her,  without  saying  good-by,  and  she 
would  not  force  herself  on  his  notice.  Even  as  she  dropped 
her  veil  to  avoid  observation,  the  carriage  rolled  on,  and  she 
was  soon  at  Dr.  Hartwell's  door.  Unwilling  to  reflect  on  the 
steps  she  had  taken,  she  busied  herself  in  packing  her  clothes 
and  books.  On  every  side  were  tokens  of  her  guardian's  con- 
stant interest  and  remembrance;  pictures,  vases,  and  all  the 
elegant  appendages  of  a  writing-desk.  At  length  the  last  book 
was  stowed  away,  and  nothing  else  remained  to  engage  her. 
The  beautiful  little  Nuremberg  clock  on  the  mantle  struck 


56  BEULAH. 

two,  and,  looking  up,  she  saw  the  solemn  face  of  Harriet,  who 
was  standing  in  the  door. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  commotion  ?  Hall  says 
you  ordered  the  carriage  to  be  ready  at  five  o'clock  to  take 
you  away  from  here.  Oh,  child!  what  are  things  coming  to? 
What  will  master  say?  What  won't  he  say?  What  are  you 
quitting  this  house  for,  where  you  have  been  treated  as  well 
as  if  it  belonged  to  you  ?  What  ails  you  ? " 

"Nothing.  I  have  always  intended  to  leave  here  as  soon  as 
I  was  able  to  support  myself.  Your  master  knows  I  intend  to 
teach." 

"  Take  care,  child.    Remember,  '  Pride  goeth  before  a  fall ! ' ' 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  cried  Beulah,  angrily. 

"  I  mean  that  the  day  is  coming  when  you  will  be  glad 
enough  to  come  back  and  let  my  master  take  care  of  you ! 
That's  what  I  mean.  And  see  if  it  doesn't  come  to  pass.  But 
he  will  not  do  it  then;  I  tell  you  now  he  won't.  There  is  no 
forgiving  spirit  about  him;  he  is  as  fierce  and  bears  malice  as 
long  as  a  Comanche  Injun!  Anybody  would  almost  believe 
you  belonged  to  the  Hartwell  family.  Every  soul  of  them  is 
alike  in  the  matter  of  temper;  only  Miss  Pauline  has  some- 
thing of  her  pa's  disposition.  I  suppose,  now  her  ma  is  mar- 
ried again,  she  will  want  to  come  back  to  her  uncle;  should 
not  wonder  if  he  'dopted  her,  since  you  have  got  the  bit  be- 
tween your  teeth." 

"'I  hope  he  will,"  answered  Beulah. 

"  We  shall  see ;  we  shall  see ! "  and  Harriet  walked  off  with 
anything  but  a  placid  expression  of  countenance,  while  Beulah 
sought  Mrs.  Watson  to  explain  her  sudden  departure.  The 
housekeeper  endeavored  most  earnestly  to  dissuade  her  from 
taking  the  contemplated  step,  but  her  arguments  produced  no 
effect,  and,  with  tears  of  regret,  she  bade  her  farewell. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  Beulah  took  possession  of  her 
room  at  Mrs.  Hoyt's  house.  The  furniture  was  very  plain,  and 
the  want  of  several  articles  vividly  recalled  the  luxurious  home 
she  had  abandoned. 

An  undefinable  feeling  of  desolation  crept  into  her  heart; 
but  she  struggled  desperately  against  it,  and  asked,  in  proud 
defiance  of  her  own  nature: 

"  Am  I  not  sufficient  unto  myself  ?  Leaning  only  on  myself, 
what  more  should  I  want  ?  Nothing !  His  sympathy  is  utterly 
unnecessary." 

A  knock  at  the  door  startled  her,  and,  in  answer  to  her 
"come  in,"  Clara  Sanders  entered.  She  walked  slowly,  and, 
seating  herself  beside  Beulah,  said,  in  a  gentle  tone: 

"How  do  you  like  your  room?  I  am  so  glad  it  opens  into 
mine." 

"  Quite  as  well  as  I  expected.    The  view  from  this  window 


BEULAH.  57 

must  be  very  fine.    There  is  the  tea-bell,  I  suppose.    Are  you 
not  going  down?    I  am  too  much  fatigued  to  move." 

"No;  I  never  want  supper,  and  generally  spend  the  even- 
ings in  my  room.  It  is  drearily  monotonous  here.  Beulah, 
how  long  does  Dr.  Hartwell  expect  to  remain  at  the  North? 
He  told  me,  some  time  ago,  that  he  was  a  delegate  to  the  medi- 
cal convention." 

"I  believe  it  is  rather  uncertain;  but  probably  he  will  not 
return  before  October." 

"  The  Grahams  are  coming  home  soon,  I  hear.  One  of  the 
principal  upholsterers  boards  here,  and  he  mentioned  this 
morning  at  breakfast  that  he  had  received  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Graham,  directing  him  to  attend  to  the  unpacking  of  an  en- 
tirely new  set  of  furniture.  Everything  will  be  on  a  grand 
scale.  I  suppose  Eugene  returns  with  them  ? " 

"Yes,  they  will  all  arrive  in  November." 

"It  must  be  a  delightful  anticipation  for  you." 

"  Why  so,  pray." 

"Why?    Because  you  and  Eugene  are  such  old  friends." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  as  far  as  Eugene  is  concerned,  of  course  it  is  a 
very  pleasant  anticipation." 

"  He  is  identified  with  the  Grahams." 

"  Not  necessarily,"  answered  Beulah,  coldly. 

A  sad  smile  flitted  over  Clara's  sweet  face,  as  she  rose  and 
kissed  her  friend's  brow,  saying  gently: 

"  Good-night,  dear.  I  have  a  headache,  and  must  try  to 
sleep  it  off.  Since  you  have  determined  to  battle  with  dif- 
ficulties, I  am  very  glad  to  have  you  here  with  me.  I  ear- 
nestly hope  that  success  may  crown  your  efforts,  and  the  sun- 
shine of  happiness  dispel  for  you  the  shadows  that  have  fallen 
thick  about  my  pathway.  You  have  been  rash,  Beulah,  and 
short-sighted;  but  I  trust  that  all  will  prove  for  the  best. 
Good-night." 

She  glided  away,  and,  locking  the  door,  Beulah  returned  to 
her  seat,  and  laid  her  head  wearily  down  on  the  window-sill. 
What  a  Hermes  is  thought!  Like  a  vanishing  dream  fled  the 
consciousness  of  surrounding  objects,  and  she  was  with  Eu- 
gene. There  had  long  existed  a  tacit  compact,  which  led  her 
to  consider  her  future  indissolubly  linked  with  his;  and  his 
parting  words  seemed  to  seal  this  compact  as  holy  and  binding, 
when  he  declared :  "  I  mean,  of  course,  to  take  care  of  you 
myself,  when  I  come  home,  for  you  know  you  belong  to  me." 
His  letters  for  many  months  retained  the  tone  of  dictatorship, 
but  the  tenderness  seemed  all  to  have  melted  away.  He  wrote 
as  if  with  a  heart  preoccupied  by  weightier  matters,  and  now 
Beulah  could  no  longer  conceal  from  herself  the  painful  fact 
that  the  man  was  far  different  from  the  boy.  She  wished  be- 
yond all  expression  to  see  him  once  more,  and  the  prospect 
5  i 


58  BEULAH. 

of  a  speedy  reunion  often  made  her  heart  throb  painfully. 
That  he  would  reproach  her  for  her  obstinate  resolution  of 
teaching,  she  was  prepared  to  expect;  but,  strong  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  duty,  she  committed  herself  to  the  care  of  a 
merciful  God,  and  soon  slept  as  soundly  as  though  under  Dr. 
Hartwell's  roof. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

SOMETIMES,  after  sitting  for  five  consecutive  hours  at  the 
piano,  guiding  the  clumsy  fingers  of  tyros,  and  listening  to  a 
tiresome  round  of  scales  and  exercises,  Beulah  felt  exhausted, 
mentally  and  physically,  and  feared  that  she  had  miserably 
overrated  her  powers  of  endurance.  The  long,  warm  days  of 
August  dragged  heavily  by,  and  each  night  she  felt  grateful 
that  the  summer  was  one  day  nearer  its  grave.  One  afternoon 
she  proposed  to  Clara  to  extend  their  walk  to  the  home  of  her 
guardian,  and  they  left  the  noise  and  crowd  of  the  city,  and 
soon  found  themselves  on  the  common. 

"  This  is  my  birthday,"  said  Beulah,  as  they  passed  a  clump 
of  pines,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  white  gate  beyond. 

"  Ah !  how  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Eighteen — but  I  feel  much  older." 

She  opened  the  gate,  and  as  they  leisurely  ascended  the  ave- 
nue of  aged  cedars,  Beulah  felt  once  more  as  if  she  were  going 
home.  A  fierce  bark  greeted  her,  and  the  next  moment  Charon 
rushed  to  meet  her;  placing  his  huge  paws  on  her  shoul- 
ders, and  whining  and  barking  joyfully.  He  bounded  before 
her  to  the  steps,  and  laid  down  contentedly  on  the  piazza. 
Harriet's  turbaned  head  appeared  at  the  entrance,  and  a 
smile  of  welcome  lighted  up  her  ebony  face,  as  she  shook 
Beulah's  hand. 

Mrs.  Watson  was  absent,  and,  after  a  few  questions,  Beulah 
entered  the  study,  saying: 

"I  want  some  books,  Harriet;  and  Miss  Sanders  wishes  to 
see  the  paintings." 

Ah!  every  chair  and  bookshelf  greeted  her  like  dear  friends, 
and  she  bent  down  over  some  volumes  to  hide  the  tears  that 
sprang  into  her  eyes.  Clara  was  eagerly  examining  the  paint- 
ings, and  neither  of  the  girls  observed  Harriet's  entrance,  until 
she  asked: 

"Do  you  know  that  the  yellow  fever  has  broke  out  here?" 

"  Oh,  you  are  mistaken !    It  can't  be  possible !  "  cried  Clara. 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  a  fact.  There  are  six  cases  now  at  the  hos- 
pital; Hal  was  there  this  morning." 

"  Who  told  you  there  was  yellow  fever  at  the  hospital  ? " 

"Dr.  Asbury  said  so;  and,  what  is  more,  Hal  has  had  it 


BEULAH.  59 

himself,  and  nursed  people  who  had  it;  and  he  says  it  is  the 
worst  sort  of  yellow  fever." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  it,"  said  Beulah. 

"  I  am  dreadfully  afraid  of  it,"  answered  Clara. 

The  ensuing  week  was  one  of  anxious  apprehension  to  all 
within  the  city.  Harriet's  words  seemed  prophetic.  In  ten 
days  the  epidemic  began  to  make  fearful  havoc;  all  classes  and 
ages  were  assailed  indiscriminately.  Whole  families  were 
stricken  down  in  a  day,  and  not  one  member  spared  to  aid  the 
others.  Many  doubted  that  it  was  yellow  fever,  and  conjec- 
tured that  the  veritable  plague  had  crossed  the  ocean.  Of  all 
Mrs.  Hoyt's  boarders,  but  half  a  dozen  determined  to  hazard 
remaining  in  the  infected  region;  these  were  Beulah,  Clara, 
and  four  gentlemen.  Gladly  would  Clara  have  fled  to  a  place 
of  safety,  had  it  been  in  her  power;  but  there  was  no  one  to 
accompany  or  watch  over  her,  and,  as  she  was  forced  to  wit- 
ness the  horrors  of  the  season,  a  sort  of  despair  seemed  to  nerve 
her  trembling  frame.  Mrs.  Watson  had  been  among  the  first 
to  .leave  the  city.  Madam  St.  Cymon  had  disbanded  her 
school;  and  as  only  her  three  daughters  continued  to  take 
music  lessons,  Beulah  had  ample  leisure  to  contemplate  the 
distressing  scenes  which  surrounded  her.  At  noon,  one  Sep- 
tember day,  she  stood  at  the  open  window  of  her  room.  Out 
of  her  ten  fellow-graduates,  four  slept  in  the  cemetery.  The 
night  before  she  had  watched  beside  another,  and  at  dawn  saw 
the  limbs  stiffen  and  the  eyes  grow  sightless.  Among  her 
former  schoolmates  the  contagion  had  been  particularly  fatal, 
and  fearless  of  danger,  she  had  nursed  two  of  them.  As  she 
stood  fanning  herself,  Clara  entered  hurriedly,  and,  sinking 
into  a  chair,  exclaimed,  in  accents  of  terror: 

"  It  has  come !  as  I  knew  it  would !  Two  of  Mrs.  Hoyt's 
children  have  been  taken,  and,  I  believe,  one  of  the  waiters 
also !  Merciful  God !  what  will  become  of  me  ? "  Her  teeth 
chattered,  and  she  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Clara !  Your  excessive  terror  is  your 
greatest  danger.  If  you  would  escape,  you  must  keep  as  quiet 
as  possible." 

She  poured  out  a  glass  of  water,  and  made  her  drink  it; 
then  asked: 

"  Can  Mrs.  Hoyt  get  medical  aid? " 

"  No ;  she  has  sent  for  every  doctor  in  town,  and  not  one  has 
come." 

"  Then  I  will  go  down  and  assist  her."  Beulah  turned  to- 
ward the  door,  but  Clara  caught  her  dress. 

"  Are  you  mad,  thus  continually  to  put  your  life  in  jeop- 
ardy? Are  you  shod  with  immortality,  that  you  thrust 
yourself  into  the  very  path  of  destruction  ?  " 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  the  fever,  and  therefore  think  I  shall 


60  BEULAH. 

not  take  it.  As  long  as  I  am  able  to  be  up,  I  shall  do  all  that 
I  can  to  relieve  the  sick.  Remember,  Clara,  nurses  are  not  to 
be  had  now  for  any  sum."  She  glided  down  the  steps,  and 
found  the  terrified  mother  wringing  her  hands  helplessly  over 
the  stricken  ones.  The  children  were  crying  on  the  bed,  and, 
with  the  energy  which  the  danger  demanded,  Beulah  speedily 
ordered  the  mustard  baths,  and  administered  the  remedies  she 
had  seen  prescribed  on  previous  occasions.  The  fever  rose 
rapidly,  and,  undaunted  by  thoughts  of  personal  danger,  she 
took  her  place  beside  the  bed.  It  was  past  midnight  when 
Dr.  Asbury  came;  exhausted  and  haggard  from  unremitting 
toil  and  vigils,  he  looked  several  years  older  than  when  she 
had  last  seen  him.  He  started  on  perceiving  her  perilous  post, 
and  said,  anxiously: 

"Oh,  you  are  rash!  very  rash!  What  would  Hartwell  say? 
What  will  he  think  when  he  comes  ? " 

"  Comes !  Surely  you  have  not  urged  him  to  come  back 
now ! "  said  she,  grasping  his  arm  convulsively. 

"  Certainly.  I  telegraphed  to  him  to  come  home  by  express. 
You  need  not  look  so  troubled;  he  has  had  this  Egyptian 
plague,  will  run  no  risk,  and,  even  if  he  should,  will  return  as 
soon  as  possible." 

All  this  was  said  in  an  undertone,  and,  after  advising  every- 
thing that  could  possibly  be  done,  he  left  the  room,  beckoning 
Beulah  after  him.  She  followed,  and  he  said,  earnestly: 

"  Child,  I  tremble  for  you.  Why  did  you  leave  Hartwell's 
house,  and  incur  all  this  peril?  Beulah,  though  it  is  nobly 
unselfish  in  you  to  devote  yourself  to  the  sick,  as  you  are  do- 
ing, it  may  cost  you  your  life — nay,  most  probably  it  will." 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  all,  sir,  and  determined  to  do  my 
duty." 

"  Then  God  preserve  you.  Those  children  have  been  taken 
violently;  watch  them  closely;  good  nursing  is  worth  all  the 
apothecary  shops.  You  need  not  send  for  me  any  more;  I  am 
out  constantly;  whenever  I  can  I  will  come;  meantime,  depend 
only  on  the  nursing.  Should  you  be  taken  yourself,  let  me 
know  at  once;  do  not  fail.  A  word  more — keep  yourself  well 
stimulated." 

He  hurried  away,  and  she  returned  to  the  sick  room,  to 
speculate  on  the  probability  of  soon  meeting  her  guardian. 
Who  can  tell  how  dreary  were  the  days  and  nights  that  fol- 
lowed? Mrs.  Hoyt  took  the  fever,  and  mother  and  children 
moaned  together.  On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  the 
eldest  child,  a  girl  of  eight  years,  died,  with  Beulah's  hand 
grasped  in  hers.  Happily,  the  mother  was  unconscious,  and 
the  little  corpse  was  borne  into  an  adjoining  room.  Beulah 
shrank  from  the  task  which  she  felt,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  called  on  to  perform.  She  could  nurse  the  living,  but 


BEULAH.  61 

dreaded  the  thought  of  shrouding  the  dead.  Still,  there  was 
no  one  else  to  do  it,  and  she  bravely  conquered  her  repugnance, 
and  clad  the  young  sleeper  for  the  tomb.  Mrs.  Hoyt  still  hung 
upon  the  confines  of  eternity;  and  Beulah,  who  had  not  closed 
her  eyes  for  many  nights,  was  leaning  over  the  bed,  counting 
the  rushing  pulse,  when  a  rapid  step  caused  her  to  look  up, 
and,  falling  forward  in  her  arms,  Clara  cried: 

"  Save  me !  save  me !     The  chill  is  on  me  now !  " 

It  was  too  true;  and  as  Beulah  assisted  her  to  her  room, 
and  carefully  bathed  her  feet,  her  heart  was  heavy  with  dire 
dread  lest  Clara's  horror  of  the  disease  should  augment  its 
ravages.  Dr.  Asbury  was  summoned  with  all  haste,  but,  as 
usual,  seemed  an  age  in  coming,  and  when  at  last  he  came, 
could  only  prescribe  what  had  already  been  done. 

"  Doctor,  you  must  send  Hal  to  me.  He  can  nurse  Mrs» 
Hoyt  and  little  Willie  while  I  watch  Clara.  I  can't  possibly 
take  care  of  all  three,  though  Willie  is  a  great  deal  better. 
Can  you  send  him  at  once?  he  is  a  good  nurse." 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  nursing  poor  Tom  Hamil,  but  he  died 
about  an  hour  ago,  and  Hal  is  released.  I  look  for  Hartwell 
hourly.  You  do  keep  up  amazingly !  Bless  you,  Beulah !  " 

Keentering  the  room,  Beulah  sat  down  beside  Clara,  and, 
taking  one  burning  hand  in  her  cool  palms,  pressed  it  softly, 
saying,  in  an  encouraging  tone: 

"I  feel  so  much  relieved  about  Willie,  he  is  a  great  deal 
better;  and  I  think  Mrs.  Hoyt's  fever  is  abating.  You  were 
not  taken  so  severely  as  Willie,  and  if  you  will  go  to  sleep 
quietly,  I  believe  you  will  only  have  a  light  attack." 

"  What  was  that  the  doctor  said  about  Dr.  Hartwell  ?  " 

"  Only  that  he  is  coming  home  soon — that  was  all." 

Clara  closed  her  eyes,  but  tears  stole  from  beneath  the  lashes, 
and  coursed  rapidly  down  her  glowing  cheeks.  Beulah  felt 
that  her  continued  vigils  and  exertions  were  exhausting  her. 
Her  limbs  trembled  when  she  walked,  and  there  was  a  dull 
pain  in  her  head,  which  she  could  not  banish.  Occasionally 
she  stole  away  to  see  the  other  sufferers,  fearing  that  when 
Mrs.  Hoyt  discovered  Lizzie's  death,  the  painful  intelligence 
would  seal  her  own  fate.  It  was  late  at  night.  She  had  just 
returned  from  one  of  these  hasty  visits,  and,  finding  that  Hal 
was  as  attentive  as  anyone  could  be,  she  threw  herself,  weary 
and  anxious,  into  an  armchair  beside  Clara's  bed.  The  victim 
was  delirious;  the  hazel  eyes,  inflamed  and  vacant,  rested  on 
Beulah's  countenance,  and  she  murmured: 

"  He  will  never  know !  Oh,  no !  how  should  he  ?  The  grave 
will  soon  shut  me  in,  and  I  shall  see  him  no  more — no  more !  " 
She  shuddered  and  turned  away. 

Beulah  leaned  her  head  against  the  bed,  and  as  a  tear  slid 
down  upon  her  hand,  she  said  with  bitter  sorrow: 


62  BEULAH. 

"  I  would  rather  see  her  the  victim  of  death,  than  have  her 
drag  out  an  aimless,  cheerless  existence,  rendered  joyless  by, 
this  hopeless  attachment !  " 

A  touch  on  her  shoulder  caused  her  to  look  around,  and  her 
eyes  rested  on  her  guardian.  She  started,  but  did  not  speak, 
and  held  out  her  hand.  He  looked  at  her,  long  and  search- 
ingly;  his  lip  trembled,  and  instead  of  taking  her  offered  hand, 
he  passed  his  arm  around  her,  and  drew  her  to  his  bosom. 
She  looked  up  with  surprise;  and  bending  his  haughty  head, 
he  kissed  her  pale  brow,  for  the  first  time.  She  felt  then  that 
she  would  like  to  throw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  tell 
him  how  very  glad  she  was  to  see  him  again — how  unhappy 
his  sudden  departure  had  made  her;  but  a  feeling  she  could 
not  pause  to  analyze  prevented  her  from  following  the  dictates 
of  her  heart;  and  holding  her  off,  so  as  to  scan  her  counte- 
nance, Dr.  Hartwell  said: 

"  How  worn  and  haggard  you  look !  Oh,  child !  your  rash 
obstinacy  has  tortured  me  beyond  expression." 

"I  have  but  done  my  duty.  It  has  been  a  horrible  time. 
I  am  glad  you  have  come." 

"  It  is  no  wonder  you  look  as  if  years  had  suddenly  passed 
over  your  head!  You  have  a  room  here,  I  believe.  Go  to  it, 
and  go  to  sleep;  I  will  not  leave  Clara." 

It  was  astonishing  how  his  presence  removed  the  dread 
weight  of  responsibility  from  her  heart.  Not  until  this  mo- 
ment had  she  felt  as  if  she  could  possibly  sleep. 

"  I  will  sleep  now,  so  as  to  refreshed  for  to-morrow  and 
to-morrow  night.  Here  is  a  couch;  I  will  sleep  here,  and  if 
Clara  grows  worse  you  must  wake  me."  She  crossed  the  room, 
threw  herself  on  the  couch,  and  laid  her  aching  head  on  her 
arm.  Dr.  Hartwell  placed  a  pillow  under  her  head;  once  more 
his  fingers  sought  her  wrist;  once  more  his  lips  touched  her 
forehead,  and  as  he  turned  to  watch  beside  Clara,  and  listen 
to  her  ravings,  Beulah  sank  into  a  heavy,  dreamless  sleep  of 
exhaustion. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SHE  was  awakened  by  the  cool  pattering  of  raindrops,  which 
beat  through  the  shutters  and  fell  upon  her  face.  She  sprang 
up  with  a  thrill  of  delight,  and  looked  out.  A  leaden  sky 
lowered  over  the  city,  and,  as  the  torrents  came  down  in 
whitening  sheets,  the  thunder  rolled  continuously  overhead. 
Not  the  shower  which  gathered  and  fell  around  sea-girt  Car- 
mel  was  more  gratefully  received. 

"  Thank  God !  it  rains ! "  cried  Beulah,  and,  turning  toward 
Clara,  she  saw  with  pain  that  the  sufferer  was  all  unconscious 


BEULAH.  63 

of  the  tardy  blessing.  Save  the  sound  of  her  labored  breath- 
ing, the  room  was  silent,  and,  sinking  on  her  knees,  Beulah 
prayed  earnestly  that  the  gentle  sufferer  might  be  spared.  As 
she  rose,  her  guardian  entered,  and  she  started  at  the  haggard, 
wasted,  harassed  look  of  the  noble  face  which  she  had  not 
observed  before.  He  bent  down  and  coaxed  Clara  to  take  a 
spoonful  of  medicine,  and  Beulah  asked,  earnestly: 

"  Have  you  been  ill,  sir  ?  " 

"  No." 

He  did  not  even  glance  at  her. 

"  You  are  not  going,  surely  ? "  she  continued,  as  he  took  his 
hat  and  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"  I  am  needed  elsewhere.  Only  nursing  can  now  avail  here. 
You  know  very  well  what  is  requisite.  Either  Dr.  Asbury  or 
I  will  be  here  again  to-night  to  sit  up  with  this  gentle  girl." 

"You  need  neither  of  you  come  to  sit  up  with  her.  I  will 
do  that  myself.  I  shall  not  sleep  another  moment  until  I  know 
that  she  is  better." 

"  Very  well."    He  left  the  room  immediately. 

"  How  he  cases  his  volcanic  nature  in  ice ! "  thought  Beulah, 
sinking  into  the  armchair.  "Last  night  he  seemed  so  kind, 
so  cordial,  so  much  my  friend  and  guardian!  To-day  there  is 
a  mighty  barrier,  as  though  he  stood  on  some  towering  crag, 
and  talked  to  me  across  an  infinite  gulf!  Well,  well,  even  an 
Arctic  night  passes  away;  and  I  can  afford  to  wait  till  his 
humor  changes." 

The  sufferer  slept,  and  the  watcher  augured  favorably. 
About  nine  o'clock  she  heard  steps  on  the  stairs,  and  soon 
after  Drs.  Asbury  and  Hartwell  entered  together.  There  was 
little  to  be  told,  and  less  to  be  advised,  and  while  the  latter 
attentively  examined  the  pulse,  the  former  took  Beulah's  hands 
in  both  his,  and  said,  kindly: 

"  Are  you  able  to  sit  up  with  Miss  Sanders  to-night  ?  If 
not,  say  so  candidly." 

"  I  am  able,  and  determined  to  do  so." 

"  Very  well.    After  to-morrow  it  will  not  be  needed." 

"  ^Yhat  do  you  mean  ? "  cried  Beulah,  clutching  his  arm. 

"  Don't  look  so  savage,  child.  She  will  either  be  convales- 
cent, or  beyond  all  aid.  I  hope  and  believe  the  former.  Watch 
her  closely  till  I  see  you  again.  Good-night,  dear  child."  He 
stepped  to  the  door;  and  with  a  slight  inclination  of  his  head, 
Dr.  Hartwell  followed  him. 

It  was  a  vigil  Beulah  never  forgot.  The  night  seemed  inter- 
minable, as  if  the  car  of  time  were  driven  backward,  and  she 
longed  inexpressibly  for  the  dawning  of  day.  Four  o'clock 
came  at  last;  Clara  slept.  The  distant  stars  looked  down  en- 
couragingly from  their  homes  of  blue,  and  once  more  the  lonely 
orphan  bent  her  knee  in  supplication  before  the  throne  of  Je- 


64  BEULAH. 

hovah.  But  a  cloud  seemed  hovering  between  her  heart  and 
the  presence-chamber  of  Deity.  In  vain  she  prayed,  and  tried 
to  believe  that  life  would  be  spared  in  answer  to  her  petitions. 
Faith  died  in  her  soul,  and  she  sat  with  her  eyes  riveted  upon 
the  face  of  her  friend.  For  several  hours  longer  she  main- 
tained her  watch;  still,  the  doctor  did  not  come,  and  while  she 
sat  with  Clara's  fingers  clasped  in  hers,  the  brown  eyes  opened, 
and  looked  dreamily  at  her.  She  leaned  over,  and,  kissing  the 
wan  cheek,  asked,  eagerly: 

"  How  do  you  feel,  darling !  " 

"  Perfectly  weak  and  helpless." 

"Have  I  been  very  ill?" 

"  Well — yes.  You  have  been  right  sick.  Had  some  fever, 
but  it  has  left  you." 

Clara  mused  again.  Memory  came  back  slowly,  and  at 
length  she  asked: 

"  Have  I  had  any  physician  ?  " 

"  Dr.  Hartwell  came  home  since  you  were  taken  sick,  and 
called  to  see  you  two  or  three  times." 

A  faint  glow  tinged  the  sallow  cheek,  and,  while  a  tremor 
crept  over  her  lips,  she  said,  almost  inaudibly: 

"  When  will  he  come  again  ? " 

"  Before  long,  I  dare  say.  Indeed,  there  is  his  step  now. 
Dr.  Asbury  is  with  him." 

She  had  not  time  to  say  more,  for  they  came  in  immediately, 
and  with  a  species  of  pity  she  noted  the  smile  of  pleasure 
which  curved  Clara's  mouth,  as  her  guardian  bent  down  and 
spoke  to  her.  While  he  took  her  thin  hand  and  fixed  his  eyes 
on  her  face,  Dr.  Asbury  looked  over  his  shoulder,  and  said, 
bluntly : 

"  Hurrah  for  you !  All  right  again,  as  I  thought  you  would 
be !  Does  your  head  ache  at  all  this  morning  ?  Feel  like  eat- 
ing half-a-dozen  partridges  ?  " 

"  She  is  not  deaf,"  said  Dr.  Hartwell,  rather  shortly. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that ;  she  has  been  to  all  my  questions 
lately.  I  must  see  about  Carter,  below.  Beulah^,  child,  you 
look  the  worse  for  your  apprenticeship  to  our  profession." 

"  So  do  you,  sir,"  said  she,  smiling. 

He  hurried  away  to  another  part  of  the  house,  and  Beulah 
went  into  her  own  apartment  to  arrange  her  hair. 

Looking  into  the  glass,  she  could  not  forbear  smiling  at 
the  face  which  looked  back  at  her,  it  was  so  thin  and  ghastly; 
even  the  lips  were  colorless,  and  the  large  eyes  sunken.  She 
unbound  her  hair,  and  had  only  shaken  it  fully  out,  when  a 
knock  at  her  door  called  her  from  the  glass.  She  tossed  her 
hair  all  back,  and  it  hung  like  an  inky  veil  almost  to  the  floor 
as  she  opened  the  door  and  confronted  her  guardian. 

"  Here  is  some  medicine,  which  must  be  mixed  in  a  tumbler 


BEULAH.  65 

of  water.  I  want  a  tablespoonful  given  every  hour,  unless 
Clara  is  asleep.  Keep  everything  quiet." 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Beulah,  coolly. 

"  That  is  all."  He  walked  off,  and  she  brushed  and  twisted 
up  her  hair,  wondering  how  long  he  meant  to  keep  up  that 
freezing  manner.  It  accorded  very  well  with  his  treatment 
before  his  departure  for  the  North,  and  she  sighed  as  she  re- 
called the  brief  hour  of  cordiality  which  followed  his  return. 
She  began  to  perceive  that  this  was  the  way  they  were  to  meet 
in  future;  she  had  displeased  him,  and  he  intended  that  she 
should  feel  it.  Tears  gathered  in  her  eyes,  but  she  drove  them 
scornfully  back,  and  exclaimed: 

"  He  wants  to  rule  me  with  a  rod  of  iron,  because  I  am  in- 
debted to  him  for  an  education  and  support  for  several  years. 
I  will  repay  him  every  cent  he  has  expended  for  music,  draw- 
ing and  clothing!  I  will  economize  until  every  picayune  is 
returned." 

The  purse  had  not  been  touched,  and  hastily  counting  the 
contents,  to  see  that  all  the  bills  were  there,  she  relocked  the 
drawer,  and  returned  to  the  sick  room  with  anything  but  a 
calm  face.  Clara  seemed  to  be  asleep,  and,  picking  up  a  book, 
Beulah  began  to  read.  Toward  evening,  Clara  seemed  much 
refreshed  by  a  long  nap,  and  took  some  food  which  had  been 
prepared  for  her. 

"  The  sickness  is  abating,  is  it  not,  Beulah  ? " 

"  Yes,  very  perceptibly ;  but  more  from  lack  of  fresh  vic- 
tims than  anything  else.  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  white  frost 
soon." 

"  It  has  been  very  horrible !    I  shudder  when  I  think  of  it." 

"  Then  don't  think  of  it,"  answered  her  companion. 

"Oh!  how  can -I  help  it?  I  did  not  expect  to  live  through 
it.  You  have  saved  me,  dear  Beulah ! "  Tears  glistened  in 
her  soft  eyes. 

"No;  God  saved  you." 

"  Through  your  instrumentality,"  replied  Clara,  raising  her 
friend's  hand  to  her  lips. 

"Don't  talk  any  more;  the  doctor  expressly  enjoined  quiet 
for  you." 

"I  am  glad  to  owe  my  recovery  to  him  also.  How  noble 
and  good  he  is — how  superior  to  everybody  else ! "  murmured 
the  sick  girl. 

Beulah's  lips  became  singularly  compact,  but  she  offered  no 
comment.  She  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  although  so 
worn  out  that  she  could  scarcely  keep  herself  erect.  When  the 
doctor  came,  she  escaped  unobserved  to  her  room,  hastily  put 
on  her  bonnet,  and  ran  down  the  steps  for  a  short  walk.  The 
sun  went  down,  and,  too  weary  to  extend  her  ramble,  she 
slowly  retraced  her  steps.  The  buggy  no  longer  stood  at  the 


66  BEULAH. 

door,  and,  after  seeing  Mrs.  Hoyt  and  trying  to  cha^  pleas- 
antly, she  crept  back  to  Clara. 

"  How  do  you  feel  to-night  ? "  asked  Beulah. 

"  Better,  but  very  weak.  You  have  no  idea  how  feeble  I  am. 
Beulah,  I  want  to  know  whether " 

"  You  were  told  to  keep  quiet,  so  don't  ask  any  questions, 
for  I  will  not  answer  one." 

"  You  are  not  to  sit  up  to-night;  the  doctor  said  I  would  not 
require  it." 

"  Let  the  doctor  go  back  to  the  North  and  theorize  in  his 
medical  conventions!  I  shall  sleep  here  by  your  bed,  on  this 
couch.  If  you  feel  worse,  call  me.  Now,  good-night ;  and 
don't  open  your  lips  again."  She  drew  the  couch  close  to  the 
bed,  and,  shading  the  lamp,  threw  her  weary  frame  down  to 
rest;  ere  long,  she  slept.  The  pestilential  storm  had  spent  its 
fury.  The  streets  resumed  their  usual  busy  aspect,  and  the 
hum  of  life  went  forward  once  more.  At  length,  fugitive 
families  ventured  home  again;  and  though  bands  of  crape, 
grim  badges  of  bereavement,  met  the  eye  on  all  sides,  all  re- 
joiced that  Death  had  removed  his  court;  that  his  hideous 
carnival  was  over.  Clara  regained  her  strength  very  slowly ; 
and  when  well  enough  to  quit  her  room,  walked  with  the  slow, 
uncertain  step  of  feebleness. 


-  CHAPTER  XV. 

IT  was  the  middle  of  November,  and  absentees,  who  had 
spent  their  summer  at  the  North,  were  all  at  home  again. 
Among  these  were  Mrs.  Asbury  and  her  two  daughters;  and 
only  a  few  days  after  their  return,  they  called  to  see  Beulah. 
Ere  long,  there  came  a  friendly  note,  requesting  her  to  spend 
the  evening  with  them ;  and  thus,  before  she  had  known  them 
many  weeks,  Beulah  found  herself  established  on  the  familiar 
footing  of  an  old  friend.  Universally  esteemed  and  respected, 
Dr.  Asbury's  society  was  sought  by  the  most  refined  circle  of 
the  city,  and  his  house  was  a  favorite  resort  for  the  intel- 
lectual men  and  woman  of  the  community.  Mrs.  Asbury  mer- 
ited the  elevated  position  which  she  so  ably  filled,  as  the  wife 
of  such  a  man.  While  due  attention  was  given  to  the  educa- 
tion and  rearing  of  her  daughters,  she  admirably  discharged 
the  claims  of  society,  and,  by  a  consistent  adherence  to  the 
principles  of  the  religion  she  professed,  checked  by  every 
means  within  her  power  the  frivolous  excesses  and  dangerous 
extremes  which  prevailed  throughout  the  fashionable  circle  in 
which  she  moved.  Her  parlors  were  not  the  favorite  rendez- 
vous where  gossips  met  to  retail  slander.  Refined,  dignified, 


BEULAH.  67 

gentle,  and  hospitable,  she  was  a  woman  too  rarely,  alas!  met 
with  in  so-called  fashionable  circles.  Her  husband's  repu- 
tation secured  them  the  acquaintance  of  all  distinguished 
strangers,  and  made  their  house  a  great  center  of  attraction. 
Beulah  fully  enjoyed  and  appreciated  the  friendship  thus  ten- 
dered her,  and  soon  looked  upon  Dr.  Asbury  and  his  noble 
wife  as  counselors  to  whom  in  any  emergency  she  could  unhesi- 
tatingly apply.  They  treated  her  as  an  equal  in  intrinsic 
worth,  and  prized  her  as  a  friend.  Helen  Asbury  was  older 
than  Beulah,  and  Georgia  somewhat  younger.  They  were 
sweet-tempered,  gay  girls,  lacking  their  parents'  intellectual 
traits,  but  sufficiently  well-informed  and  cultivated  to  consti- 
tute them  agreeable  companions.  Beulah  found  her  school  du- 
ties far  less  irksome  than  she  had  expected,  for  she  loved  chil- 
dren, and  soon  became  interested  in  the  individual  members 
of  her  classes.  From  eight  o'clock  until  three  she  was  closely 
occupied;  then  the  labors  of  the  day  were  over,  and  she  spent 
her  evenings  much  as  she  had  been  wont  ere  the  opening  of 
the  session.  Thus  November  glided  quickly  away,  and  the 
first  of  December  greeted  her  ere  she  dreamed  of  its  approach. 
The  Grahams  had  not  returned,  though  daily  expected;  and 
notwithstanding  two  months  had  elapsed  without  Eugene's 
writing,  she  looked  forward  with  intense  pleasure  to  his  ex- 
pected arrival.  There  was  one  source  of  constant  pain  for 
her  in  Dr.  Hartwell's  continued  and  complete  estrangement. 
Except  a  cold,  formal  bow,  in  passing,  there  was  no  intercourse 
whatever;  and  she  sorrowed  bitterly  over  this  seeming  indif- 
ference in  one  to  whom  she  owed  so  much  and  was  so  warmly 
attached.  Remotely  connected  with  this  cause  of  disquiet  was 
the  painful  change  in  Clara.  Like  a  lily  suddenly  transplanted 
to  some  arid  spot,  she  had  seemed  to  droop.  Gentle,  but  hope- 
less and  depressed,  she  went,  day  after  day,  to  her  duties  at 
Madam  St.  Cymon's  school,  and  returned  at  night  wearied, 
silent  and  wan.  Often  Beulah  gave  up  her  music  and  books, 
and  devoted  the  evenings  to  entertaining  and  interesting  her; 
but  there  was  a  constraint  and  reserve  about  her  which  could 
not  be  removed. 

One  evening,  on  returning  from  a  walk  with  Helen  Asbury, 
Beulah  ran  into  her  friend's  room  with  a  cluster  of  flowers. 
Clara  sat  by  the  fire,  with  a  piece  of  needlework  in  her  hand; 
she  looked  listless  and  sad.  Beulah  threw  the  bright  golden 
and  crimson  chrysanthemums  in  her  lap,  and,  stooping  down, 
kissed  her  warmly,  saying: 

"  My  dear  Clara,  what  saddens  you  to-night  ? " 

A  hasty  knock  at  the  door  gave  no  time  for  an  answer.  A 
servant  looked  in. 

"  Is  Miss  Beulah  Benton  here  ?  There  is  a  gentleman  in  the 
parlor  to  see  her;  here  is  his  card." 


68  BEULAH. 

Beulah  still  knelt  on  the  floor,  and  held  out  her  hand  indif- 
ferently. The  card  was  given,  and  she  sprang  up  with  a  cry 
of  joy. 

"Oh,  it  is  Eugene!" 

At  the  door  of  the  parlor  she  paused,  and  pressed  her  hand 
tightly  to  her  bounding  heart.  A  tall  form  stood  before  the 
grate,  and  a  glance  discovered  to  her  a  dark  mustache  and 
heavy  beard;  still  it  must  be  Eugene,  and,  extending  her  arms 
unconsciously,  she  exclaimed: 

"Eugene!  Eugene!  have  you  come  at  last?" 

He  started,  looked  up,  and  hastened  toward  her.  Her  arms 
suddenly  dropped  to  her  side,  and  only  their  hands  met  in  a 
firm,  tight  clasp.  For  a  moment  they  gazed  at  each  other  in 
silence,  each  noting  the  changes  which  time  had  wrought. 
Then  he  said,  slowly: 

"I  should  not  have  known  you,  Beulah.  You  have  altered 
surprisingly."  His  eyes  wandered  wonderingly  over  her  fea- 
tures. She  was  pale  and  breathless;  her  lips  trembled  vio- 
lently, and  there  was  a  strange  gleam  in  her  large,  eager  eyes. 
She  did  not  reply,  but  stood  looking  up  intently  into  his  hand- 
some face.  Then  she  shivered;  the  long,  black  lashes  drooped; 
her  white  fingers  relaxed  their  clasp  of  his,  and  she  sat  down 
on  the  sofa  near.  Ah!  her  womanly  intuitions,  infallible  as 
Ithuriel's  spear,  told  her  that  he  was  no  longer  the  Eugene 
she  had  loved  so  devotedly.  An  iron  hand  seemed  to  clutch 
her  heart,  and  again  a  shudder  crept  over  her  as  he  seated 
himself  beside  her,  saying: 

"  I  am  very  much  pained  to  find  you  here.  I  am  just  from 
Dr.  Hartwell's,  where  I  expected  to  see  you." 

He  paused,  for  something  about  her  face  rather  disconcerted 
him,  and  he  took  her  hand  again  in  his. 

"I  should  scorn  myself  were  I  willing  to  live  idly  on  the 
bounty  of  one  upon  whom  I  have  no  claim." 

"You  are  morbidly  fastidious,  Beulah." 

Her  eyes  flashed,  and,  snatching  her  hand  from  his,  she 
asked,  with  curling  lips :  "  Eugene,  if  I  prefer  to  teach,  for  a 
support,  why  should  you  object?" 

"  Simply  because  you  are  unnecessarily  lowering  yourself  in 
the  estimation  of  the  community.  You  will  find  that  the  circle 
which  a  residence  tinder  Dr.  Hartwell's  roof  gave  you  the 
entree  of,  will  look  down  with  contempt  upon  a  subordinate 
teacher  in  a  public  school " 

"  Then,  thank  Heaven,  I  am  forever  shut  out  from  that  cir- 
cle! Is  my  merit  to  be  gauged  by  the  cost  of  my  clothes,  or 
the  number  of  fashionable  parties  I  attend,  think  you?" 

"  Assuredly,  Beulah,  the  things  you  value  so  lightly  are  the 
standards  of  worth  and  gentility  in  the  community  you  live  in, 
as  you  will  unfortunately  find." 


BEULAK.  69 

She  looked  at  nim  steadily,  with  grief,  and  scorn,  and  won- 
der in  her  deep,  searching  eyes,  as  she  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  Eugene!  what  has  changed  you  so,  since  the  bygone 
years,  when,  in  the  asylum,  we  talked  of  the  future?  Of 
laboring,  conquering,  and  earning  homes  for  ourselves!  Oh, 
has  the  foul  atmosphere  of  foreign  lands  extinguished  all  your 
self-respect?  Do  you  come  back  sordid  and  sycophantic,  and 
the  slave  of  opinions  you  would  once  have  utterly  detested? 
Have  you  narrowed  your  soul,  and  bowed  down  before  the  mis- 
erable standard  which  every  genuine, manly  spirit  must  loathe?  " 

"  This  fierce  recrimination  and  unmerited  tirade  is  not  ex- 
actly the  welcome  I  was  prepared  to  expect,"  returned  Eugene, 
haughtily;  and  rising,  he  took  his  hat  from  the  table.  She 
rose  also,  but  made  no  effort  to  detain  him,  and  leaned  her 
head  against  the  mantelpiece.  He  watched  her  a  moment,  then 
put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder: 

"  Beulah,  as  a  man,  I  see  the  world  and  its  relations  in  a 
far  different  light  from  that  in  which  I  viewed  it  while  a  boy. 
You  refuse  to  see  things  in  their  actual  existence,  and  prefer 
toying  with  romantic  dreams.  Beulah,  I  have  awakened  from 
them  since  we  parted." 

She  put  up  her  hand  deprecatingly,  and  answered: 

"  Then  let  me  dream  on !  let  me  dream  on ! " 

"  Beulah,  I  have  been  sadly  mistaken  in  my  estimate  of  your 
character.  I  could  not  have  believed  there  was  so  much  fierce 
obstinacy,  so  much  stubborn  pride,  in  your  nature." 

She  instantly  lifted  her  head,  and  their  eyes  met.  Other 
days  came  back  to  both;  early  confidence,  mutual  love  and  de- 
pendence. For  a  moment  his  nobler  impulses  prevailed,  and, 
with  an  unsteady  lip,  lie  passed  his  arm  quickly  around  her. 
But  she  drew  coldly  back,  and  said: 

"  It  seems  that  we  are  mutually  disappointed  in  each  other. 
I  regret  that  the  discharge  of  my  duty  should  so  far  conflict 
with  your  opinions  and  standards  of  propriety  as  to  alienate 
us  so  completely  as  it  seems  likely  to  do.  All  my  life  I  have 
looked  to  you  for  guidance  and  counsel;  but  to-night  you  have 
shaken  my  trust,  and  henceforth  I  must  depend  upon  my  own 
heart  to  support  me  in  my  work.  Oh,  Eugene!  friend  of  my 
childhood!  beware,  lest  you  sink  yourself  in  your  own  estima- 
tion! Oh,  for  days,  and  months,  and  years,  I  have  pictured 
the  hour  of  your  return,  little  dreaming  that  it  would  prove 
one  of  the  saddest  of  my  life !  I  have  always  looked  up  to 
you.  Oh,  Eugene!  Eugene!  you  are  not  what  you  were!  Do 
not!  oh,  do  not  make  me  pity  you!  That  would  kill  me!" 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  shuddered  convul- 
sively. 

"  I  am  not  so  changed  as  you  think  me,"  returned  Eugene, 
proudly. 


70  BEULAH. 

"  Then,  in  early  years,  I  was  miserably  deceived  in  your 
character.  For  the  sake  of  wealth,  and  what  the  world  calls 
'  position,'  you  have  sold  yourself.  In  lieu  of  gold  and  influ- 
ence, Mr,  Graham  has  your  will  and  conscience.  Ah,  Eugene! 
how  can  you  bear  to  be  a  mere  tool  in  his  hands  ? " 

"Beulah,  your  language,  your  insinuations,  are  unpardon- 
able! By  Heaven,  no  one  but  yourself  might  utter  them,  and 
not  even  you  can  do  so  with  impunity!  Beulah,  I  have  loved 
you  well,  but  such  another  exhibition  of  scorn  and  bitterness 
will  indeed  alienate  us.  Since  you  have  set  aside  my  view 
and  counsel  in  the  matter  of  teaching,  I  shall  not  again  refer 
to  it,  I  promise  you.  But,  remember,  since  the  hour  you  stood 
beside  your  father's  grave,  leaning  on  me,  I  have  been  con- 
stantly your  friend.  My  expostulations  were  for  what  I  con- 
sidered your  good.  Beulah,  I  am  still,  to  you,  the  Eugene  of 
other  days.  It  will  be  your  own  fault  if  the  sanctity  of  our 
friendship  is  not  maintained." 

"  It  shall  not  be  my  fault,  Eugene."  She  hastily  held  out 
her  hand.  He  clasped  it  in  his,  and,  as  if  dismissing  the  topics 
which  had  proved  so  stormy,  drew  her  to  a  seat,  and  said,  com- 
posedly : 

"  Come,  tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing  with  yourself 
these  long  five  years,  which  have  changed  you  so.  I  have 
heard  already  of  your  heroism  in  nursing  the  sick  during  the 
late  awful  season  of  pestilence  and  death." 

For  an  hour  they  talked  on  different  themes,  each  feeling 
that  the  other  was  veiling  the  true  impulses  of  the  heart,  and 
finally  Eugene  rose  to  go. 

"How  is  Cornelia's  health  now?"  asked  Beulah,  as  they 
stood  up  before  the  fire. 

"  About  the  same.  She  never  complains,  but  does  not  look 
like  herself.  Apropos !  she  intrusted  a  note  to  me,  for  you, 
which  I  had  quite  forgotten.  Here  it  is.  Miss  Dupres  is 
with  her  for  the  winter;  at  least  a  part  of  it.  Cornelia  will 
come  and  see  you  in  a  day  or  two,  she  requested  me  to  say; 
and  I  do  hope,  Beulah,  that  you  will  visit  her  often;  she  has 
taken  a  great  fancy  to  you." 

"How  long  since?"  answered  Beulah. 

"  Since  she  met  you  at  a  concert,  I  believe.  By  the  way, 
we  are  very  musical  at  our  house,  and  promise  ourselves  some 
delightful  evenings  this  winter.  You  must  hear  Antoinette 
Dupres  sing;  she  is  equal  to  the  best  prima-donna  of  Italy. 
Do  you  practice  much?" 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  I  must  go.    When  shall  I  see  you  again?" 

"  Whenever  you  feel  disposed  to  come ;  and  I  hope  that  will 
be  often.  Eugene,  you  were  a  poor  correspondent;  see  that 
you  prove  a  better  visitor." 


BEULAH.  71 

"Well,  I  will  see  you  again  to-morrow;  till  then  good-by." 
They  shook  hands,  and  she  went  back  to  "her  own  room.  Cor- 
nelia's note  contained  an  invitation  to  spend  the  next  evening 
with  them;  she  would  call  as  soon  as  possible.  She  put  it 
aside,  and,  throwing  her  arms  on  the  mantelpiece,  bowed  her 
head  upon  them.  This,  then,  was  the  hour  which,  for  five 
years,  she  had  anticipated  as  an  occasion  of  unmixed  delight. 
She  was  thinking  of  the  handsome  face  which  a  little  while 
before  was  beside  her ;  thinking,  with  keen  agony,  of  footprints 
there,  which  she  had  never  dreamed  of  seeing;  they  were  very 
slight,  yet  unmistakable — the  fell  signet  of  dissipation.  Poor 
Beulah !  the  idol  of  her  girlhood  fell  from  its  pedestal,  and  lay 
in  crumbling  ruins  at  her  feet.  In  this  hour  of  reunion,  she 
saw  clearly  into  her  own  heart;  she  did  not  love  him,  save  as 
a  friend,  or  as  a  brother.  She  felt  a  soft  touch  on  her  shoul- 
der, and  raised  her  sad,  tearless  face.  Clara,  with  her  ethereal, 
spiritual  countenance,  stood  on  the  hearth:  "Do  I  disturb 
you  ? "  said  she,  timidly. 

"  No ;  I  am  glad  you  came.  I  was  listening  to  cold,  bitter, 
bitter  thoughts.  Sit  down,  Clara;  you  look  fatigued." 

"  Oh,  Beulah !  I  am  weary  in  body  and  spirit ;  I  have  no 
energy;  my  very  existence  is  a  burden  to  me." 

"  Our  situations  are  similar,  yet  I  never  repine  as  you 
do." 

"  You  have  not  the  same  cause.  You  are  self-reliant ;  need 
no  society  to  conduce  to  your  happiness;  your  heart  is  bound 
up  in  your  books." 

"Where  yours  had  better  have  been,"  answered  Beulah. 
She  walked  across  the  floor  several  times,  then  said,  impres- 
sively, as  she  threw  her  arm  round  Clara's  waist: 

"  Crush  it ;  crush  it ;  if  you  crush  your  heart  in  the  effort." 

"  I  know  now  that  it  is  perfectly  hopeless,"  said  Clara. 

"  You  might  have  known  it  from  the  first." 

"  No ;  it  is  but  recently  that  the  barrier  has  risen." 

"  What  barrier  ?  "  asked  Beulah,  curiously. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Beulah,  do  not  mock  me !  You  know 
too  well  what  separates  us." 

"Yes;  utter  uncongeniality." 

Clara  raised  her  head,  looked  into  the  honest  face  before 
her,  and  answered: 

"If  that  were  all,  I  could  yet  hope  to  merit  his  love;  but 
you  know  that  is  not  so.  You  must  know  that  he  has  no  love 
to  bestow." 

Beulah's  face  seemed  instantly  steeled.  A  grayish  hue  crept 
over  it;  and  drawing  her  slender  form  to  its  full  height,  she 
replied,  with  haughty  coldness : 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?    I  can  only  conjecture." 

"  Beulah,  you  know  he  loves  you !  "  cried  Clara. 


72  BEULAH. 

"Clara  Sanders,  never  say  that  again  as  long  as  yon  live; 
for  there  is  not  the  shadow  of  truth  in  it." 

"  Ah,  I  would  not  believe  it  till  it  was  forced  upon  me !  The 
heart  bars  itself  a  long  time  to  painful  truths !  I  have  looked 
at  you,  and  wondered  whether  you  could  be  ignorant  of  what 
I  saw  so  clearly.  I  believe  you  are  honest  in  what  you  say. 
He  loves  you,  whether  you  see  it  or  not.  And,  moreover,  the 
world  has  begun  to  join  your  names.  I  have  heard,  more  than 
once,  that  he  educated  you  with  the  intention  of  marrying 
you ;  and  recently  it  has  been  rumored  that  the  marriage  would 
take  place  very  soon." 

"  It  is  utterly  false  from  beginning  to  end !  He  never  had 
such  a  thought !  never !  never ! "  cried  Beulah,  striking  her 
clinched  hand  heavily  on  the  tabb. 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  the  circumstances  of  his  early 
life,  and  ill-fated  marriage?"  asked  Clara. 

"No;  he  never  alluded  to  his  marriage  in  any  way." 

"His  wife  was  very,  very  beautiful;  I  saw  her  once  when 
I  was  a  child,"  continued  Clara. 

"  Of  course  she  must  have  been,  for  he  could  not  love  one 
who  was  not." 

"  She  lived  but  a  few  months ;  yet  even  in  that  short  time  they 
had  become  utterly  estranged,  and  she  died  of  e  broken  heart. 
There  is  some  mystery  connected  with  it;  they  were  separated." 

"  Separated !  "  cried,  Beulah,  in  amazement. 

"Her  conduct  was  not  irreproachable,  it  has  been  whis- 
pered." 

"  Aye,  whispered  by  slanderous  tongues !  Not  openly  avowed, 
to  admit  of  denial  and  refutation!  I  wonder  the  curse  of 
Gomorrah  does  not  descend  on  this  gossiping,  libelous  com- 
munity." 

"  No  one  seems  to  know  anything  definite  about  the  affair, 
though  I  have  often  heard  it  commented  upon." 

"  Clara,  let  it  be  buried  henceforth.  Neither  you  nor  I  have 
any  right  to  discuss  and  censure  what  neither  of  us  knows 
anything  about.  Dr.  Hartwell  has  been  my  beet  and  truest 
friend.  I  love  and  honor  him;  his  faults  are  his  own,  and 
only  his  Maker  has  the  right  to  balance  his  actions.  Once 
for  all,  let  the  subject  drop." 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day,  she  was  engaged  with 
her  drawing,  when  a  succession  of  quick  raps  at  her  door 
forced  an  impatient  "come  in"  from  her  lips.  The  door 
opened,  and  she  rose  as  the  queenly  form  of  Cornelia  Graham 
stood  before  her. 

"I  have  waived  ceremony,  you  see,  and  eome  up  to  your 
room." 

"  How  are  you  ? "  said  Beulah,  as  they  shook  hands. 

"  Just  as  usual.    How  did  you  escape  the  plague  ? " 


BEULAH.  73 

"  By  resolving  not  to  have  it,  I  believe." 

"  Did  you  receive  my  note  yesterday  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  am  obliged  for  your  invitation,  but  I  cannot  ac- 
cept it." 

"  So  I  supposed,  and,  therefore,  came  to  make  sure  of  you. 
You  are  too  proud  to  come,  until  all  the  family  call  upon 
you,  eh  ? " 

"No;  only  people  who  consider  themselves  inferior  are  on 
the  watch  for  slights,  and  scrupulously  exact  the  minutest  re- 
quirements of  etiquette.  On  the  plane  of  equality  these  bar- 
riers melt  away." 

As  Beulah  spoke,  she  looked  steadily  into  the  searching, 
black  eyes,  which  seemed  striving  to  read  her  soul.  An  ex- 
pression of  pleasure  lighted  the  sallow  face,  and  the  lines 
about  the  beautiful  mouth  melted  into  a  smile. 

"  Then  you  have  not  forgiven  my  rudeness  during  early 
schooldays  ?  " 

"  I  had  nothing  to  forgive.  I  had  forgotten  the  affair,  until 
you  spoke." 

"  And  you  positively  will  not  come  ?  " 

"  Not  this  evening.  Another  time,  I  certainly  will  come, 
with  pleasure." 

"  Say  to-morrow,  then  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  I  shall  be  engaged." 

"  Where  ?    Excuse  my  pertinacity." 

"At  Dr.  Asbury's;  I  have  promised  to  practice  some  duets 
with  Helen." 

"  Do  you  play  well,  Beulah  ?    Are  you  a  good  musician  ? " 

"  Yes."^ 

Cornelia  mused  a  moment,  and  then  said,  slowly,  as  if  watch- 
ing the  effect  of  her  question: 

"  You  have  seen  Eugene,  of  course  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  endeavored  to  dissuade  him  from  complying  with  my 
father's  wishes,  did  you  not  ? " 

"Yes,  most  earnestly,"  answered  Beulah,  gravely. 

"  Beulah  Benton,  I  like  you.  You  are  honest,  indeed.  At 
last  I  find  one  who  is."  With  a  sudden  impulse,  she  laid  her 
white,  jeweled  hand  on  Beulah's. 

"You  seem  to  have  looked  on  human  nature  through  mis- 
anthropic lenses." 

"  Yes,  I  bought  a  pair  of  spectacles,  for  which  I  paid  a  most 
exorbitant  price ;  but  they  were  labeled  '  experience ! ' ' 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  have  enjoyed  your  tour  particularly." 

"  Yes,  I  did ;  but  one  is  glad  to  rest  sometimes.     I  may  yet 
prove  a  second  Bayard  Taylor,  notwithstanding.    I  should  like 
you  for  a  companion.    You  would  not  sicken  me  with  stereo- 
typed nonsense." 
6  i 


74  BEULAH. 

Her  delicate  fingers  folded  themselves  about  Beulah's,  who 
could  not  bring  herself  to  withdraw  her  hand. 

"  And  sure  enough,  you  would  not  be  adopted  ?  Do  you 
mean  to  adhere  to  your  determination,  and  maintain  yourself 
by  teaching  ? " 

"I  do." 

"  And  I  admire  you  for  it !  Beulah,  you  must  get  over  your 
dislike  of  me." 

"  I  do  not  dislike  you,  Cornelia." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  negative  preference,"  returned  Cor- 
nelia, rather  amused  at  her  companion's  straightforward 
manner.  Then,  with  a  sudden  contraction  of  her  brow,  she 
added : 

"I  am  not  so  bearish  as  they  give  me  credit  for." 

"  I  never  heard  you  called  so." 

"  Beulah,  will  you  come  on  Saturday  morning,  and  spend  an 
hour  or  so  with  me  ? " 

"No,  I  have  a  music  lesson  to  give;  but  if  you  will  be  at 
home  in  the  afternoon,  I  will  come  with  pleasure." 

"I  shall  expect  you.    Good-by.    You  will  come  Saturday?" 

"  Yes ;  if  nothing  occurs  to  prevent  it,  I  will  come  in  the 
afternoon."  Beulah  pressed  her  offered  hand,  and  saw  her  de- 
scend the  steps  with  a  feeling  of  pity  which  she  could  not 
exactly  analyze.  Passing  by  the  window,  she  glanced  down, 
and  paused  to  look  at  an  elegant  carriage  standing  before  the 
door.  The  day  was  cold,  but  the  top  was  thrown  back,  and 
on  one  of  the  cushions  sat,  or  rather  reclined,  a  richly  dressed, 
and  very  beautiful  girl.  As  Beulah  leaned  out  to  examine  the 
lovely  stranger  more  closely,  Cornelia  appeared.  The  driver 
opened  the  low  door,  and  as  Cornelia  stepped  in,  the  young 
lady,  who  was  Miss  Dupres,  of  course,  ejaculated,  rather 
peevishly : 

"  You  stayed  an  age." 

"Drive  down  the  Bay-road,  Wilson,"  was  Cornelia's  reply, 
and  as  she  folded  her  rich  cloak  about  her,  the  carriage  was 
whirled  away. 

Beulah  went  back  to  the  fire,  warmed  her  fingers,  and  re- 
sumed her  drawing;  thinking  that  she  would  not  willingly 
change  places  with  the  petted  child  of  wealth  and  luxury. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IT  was  Christmas  eve;  cold,  cloudy,  and  damp.  The  store 
windows  were  gay  with  6very  conceivable  and  inconceivable 
device  for  attracting  attention.  Parents,  nurses  and  porters 
hurried  along  with  mysterious-looking  bundles  and  important 


BEULAH.  75 

countenances.  Crowds  of  curious,  merry  children  thronged 
the  sidewalks;  here  a  thinly  clad,  meager  boy  looked  with 
longing  eyes  and  empty  pockets  at  pyramids  of  fruit  and 
sweetmeats;  and  there  a  richly  dressed  group  chattered  like 
blackbirds,  and  occasionally  fired  a  pack  of  crackers,  to  the 
infinite  dismay  of  horses  and  drivers.  From  her  window,  Beu- 
lah  looked  down  on  the  merry  groups,  and  involuntarily  con- 
trasted the  bustling,  crowded  streets  with  the  silence  and  deso- 
lation which  had  reigned  over  the  same  thoroughfares  only  a 
few  months  before. 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  solemn  ? "  asked  Clara,  who  had 
been  busily  engaged  in  dressing  a  doll  for  one  of  Mrs.  Hoyt'3 
children. 

"  Because  I  feel  solemn,  I  suppose." 

Clara  came  up,  and  passing  her  arm  round  Beulah's  shoul- 
der, gazed  down  into  the  noisy  street.  She  still  wore  mourn- 
ing, and  the  alabaster  fairness  of  her  complexion  contrasted 
vividly  with  the  black  bombazine  dress.  Though  thin  and 
pale,  there  was  an  indescribable  expression  of  peace  on  the 
sweet  face;  a  calm,  clear  light  of  contentment  in  the  mild, 
brown  eyes.  The  holy  serenity  of  the  countenance  was  ren- 
dered more  apparent  by  the  restless,  stormy  visage  of  her 
companion.  Every  passing  cloud  of  perplexed  thought  cast  its 
shadow  over  Beulah's  face,  and  on  this  occasion  she  looked 
more  than  usually  grave. 

Clara  feared  her  friend,  much  as  she  loved  her,  and,  since 
the  partial  discovery  of  her  skepticism,  she  had  rather  shunned 
her  society.  Now  she  watched  the  heavy  brow,  and  deep, 
piercing  eyes,  uneasily,  and  gently  withdrawing  her  arm,  she 
glided  out  of  the  room.  The  tide  of  life  still  swelled  through 
the  streets,  and  forcibly  casting  the  load  of  painful  reminis- 
cences from  her,  Beulah  kept  her  eyes  on  the  merry  faces, 
and  listened  to  the  gay,  careless  prattle  of  the  children.  The 
stately  rustle  of  brocaded  silk  caused  her  to  look  up,  and  Cor- 
nelia Graham  greeted  her  with : 

"  I  have  come  to  take  you  home  with  me  for  the  holi- 
days." 

"  You  have  been  ill  again,"  said  Beulah. 

"  Not  ill,  but  I  shall  be  soon,  I  know.  One  of  my  old  at- 
tacks is  coming  on;  1  feel  it;  and  Beulah,  to  be  honest,  which 
I  can  with  you  (without  casting  pearls  before  swine),  that 
very  circumstance  makes  me  want  you.  I  dined  out  to-day, 
and  have  just  left  the  fashionable  crowd  to  come  and  ask 
you  to  spend  the  holidays  with  me.  The  house  will  be  gay. 
Antoinette  intends  to  have  a  set  of  tableaux,  but  it  is  proba- 
ble I  shall  be  confined  to  my  room.  Will  you  give  your  time 
to  a  cross  invalid,  for  such  I  certainly  am?  I  would  be 
stretched  upon  St.  Lawrence's  gridiron  before  I  could  be 


76  BEULAH. 

brought  to  say  as  much  to  anybody  else.  I  am  not  accus- 
tomed to  ask  favors,  Beulah;  it  has  been  my  habit  to  grant 
them.  Nevertheless,  I  want  you,  and  am  not  too  proud  to 
come  after  you.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  I  may  remain  with  you,  altogether." 

In  a  few  moments  Beulah  was  ready,  and,  after  informing 
Clara  and  Mrs.  Hoyt  of  her  intended  absence,  the  two  entered 
Mr.  Graham's  elegant  carriage.  The  gas  was  now  lighted,  and 
the  spirited  horses  dashed  along,  through  streets  brilliantly  il- 
luminated and  thronged  with  happy  people. 

"  What  a  Babel !  About  equal  to  Constantinople  and  its  dog 
orchestra,"  muttered  Cornelia,  as  the  driver  paused  to  allow 
one  of  the  military  companies  to  pass.  The  martial  music, 
together  with  the  hubbub  which  otherwise  prevailed,  alarmed 
the  horses,  and  they  plunged  violently.  The  driver  endeavored 
to  back  out  into  an  alley,  but  in  the  attempt  the  carriage  was 
whirled  round,  the  coachman  jerked  over  the  dashboard  into 
the  gutter  and  the  frightened  animals  dashed  at  furious  speed 
down  the  main  street.  Luckily,  the  top  was  thrown  back, 
making  the  carriage  open,  and,  springing  forward  to  the  post 
so  unceremoniously  vacated  by  the  driver,  Beulah  snatched  the 
reins  which  were  just  within  her  reach.  The  street  was  full  of 
vehicles,  and  though,  as  may  well  be  imagined,  there  was  every 
effort  made  to  give  the  track,  the  carriage  rushed  against  the 
bright  yellow  wheels  of  a  light  buggy,  in  which  two  young  men 
were  trying  to  manage  a  fast  trotter.  There  was  a  terrible 
smash  of  wheels,  the  young  gentlemen  were  suddenly  landed 
in  the  mud,  and  their  emancipated  steed  galloped  on,  with 
the  wreck  of  the  buggy  at  his  heels.  Men,  women  and  children 
gathered  on  the  corners  to  witness  the  denouement.  Drays, 
carts  and  wagons  were  seized  with  a  simultaneous  stampede, 
which  soon  cleared  the  middle  of  the  street,  and,  uninjured 
by  the  collision,  our  carriage  flew  on.  Cornelia  sat  on  the 
back  seat,  ghastly  pale  and  motionless,  expecting  every  min- 
ute to  be  hurled  out,  while  Beulah  stood  up  in  front,  reins  in 
hand,  trying  to  guide  the  maddened  horses.  Her  bonnet  fell 
off;  the  motion  loosened  her  comb,  and  down  came  her  long, 
heavy  hair,  in  black,  blinding  folds.  She  shook  it  all  back 
from  her  face,  and  soon  saw  that  this  reckless  game  of  dodging 
vehicles  could  not  last  much  longer.  Eight  ahead,  at  the  end 
of  the  street,  was  the  wharf,  crowded  with  cotton  bales,  bar- 
rels and  a  variety  of  freight;  just  beyond  was  the  river.  A 
number  of  gentlemen  stood  on  a  neighboring  corner,  and,  with 
one  impulse,  they  rushed  forward  with  extended  arms.  On 
sprang  the  horses,  almost  upon  them;  eager  hands  grasped  at 
the  bits. 

"  Stand  back — all  of  you !  You  might  as  well  catch  at  the 
winds ! "  shouted  Beulah,  and,  with  one  last  effort,  she  threw 


BEULAH.  77 

her  whole  weight  on  the  reins  and  turned  the  horses  into 
a  cross  street.  The  wheels  struck  the  curbstone;  the  car- 
riage tilted,  rocked,  fell  back  again,  and  on  they  went  for 
three  squares  more,  when  the  horses  stopped  short  before  the 
livery-stable  where  they  were  kept.  Embossed  with  foam, 
and  panting  like  stags  at  bay,  they  were  seized  by  a  dozen 
hands. 

"  By  all  the  gods  of  Greece !  you  have  had  a  flying  trip  of 
it ! "  cried  Dr.  Asbury.  He  had  followed  them  for  at  least 
half  a  dozen  blocks,  and  was  pale  with  anxiety. 

"  See  about  Cornelia,"  said  Beulah,  seating  herself,  and 
twisting  up  the  veil  of  hair  which  swept  round  her  form. 

"Cornelia  has  fainted!  Halloo,  there!  some  water!  quick!" 
said  the  doctor,  stepping  into  the  carriage  and  attempting  to 
lift  the  motionless  figure.  But  Cornelia  opened  her  eyes  and 
answered,  unsteadily: 

"No!  carry  me  home!     Dr.  Asbury,  take  me  home!" 

The  brilliant  eyes  closed,  a  sort  of  spasm  distorted  her  fea- 
tures, and  she  sank  back  once  more,  rigid  and  seemingly  life- 
less. Dr.  Asbury  took  the  reins  firmly  in  his  hands,  seated 
himself,  and  speaking  gently  to  the  trembling  horses,  started 
homeward.  Mr.  Graham  met  the  carriage  at  the  door,  with 
considerable  agitation  and  alarm  in  his  usually  phlegmatic 
countenance.  As  Cornelia's  colorless  face  met  his  view,  he 
threw  up  his  hands  and  exclaimed : 

"My  God!  is  she  dead?  I  knew  it  would  end  this  way, 
some  day ! " 

"Nonsense,  Graham!  She  is  frightened  out  of  her  wits — 
that  is  all !  These  Yankee  horses  of  yours  have  been  playing 
the  very  deuce.  Clear  the  way  there,  all  of  you ! " 

Lifting  Cornelia  in  his  strong  arms,  Dr.  Asbury  carried  her 
up  to  her  own  room  and  placed  her  on  a  sofa.  Having  known 
her  from  childhood,  and  treated  her  so  often  in  similar  at- 
tacks, he  immediately  administered  some  medicine,  and  ere 
long  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  rigid  aspect  leave  her 
face.  She  sat  up,  and,  without  a  word,  began  to  take  off  her 
kid  gloves,  which  fitted  tightly.  Suddenly,  looking  up  at  her 
father,  who  was  anxiously  regarding  her,  she  said,  abruptly : 

"There 'are  no  more  like  her — she  kept  me  from  making  a 
simpleton  of  myself." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean,  my  dear  ?  " 

"Whom?  whom?  why,  Beulah  Benton,  of  course!  Where 
is  she  ?  Come  out  of  that  corner,  you  quaint,  solemn  statue !  " 
She  held  out  her  hand,  and  a  warm,  glad  smile  broke  over 
her  pallid  face  as  Beulah  approached  her. 

"  You  certainly  created  a  very  decided  sensation.  Beulah 
made  quite  a  passable  Medea,  with  her  inky  hair  trailing  over 
the  back  of  the  seat,  and  her  little  hands  grasping  the  reins 


78  BEULAH. 

with  desperate  energy.  By  Phoebus!  you  turned  that  corner 
at  the  bank  like  an  electric  bolt.  Shake  hands,  Beulah !  After 
this  you  -wilt  do  in  any  emergency,"  said  Dr.  Asbury. 

"I  feel  very  grateful  to  you,"  began  Mr.  Graham;  but  Beu- 
lah cut  short  his  acknowledgments  by  saying,  hastily: 

"  Sir,  I  did  nothing  at  all,  Dr.  Asbury  is  resolved  to  make 
a  heroine  of  me;  that's  all.  You  owe  me  nothing." 

"  There  comes  Antoinette  ejaculating  up  the  steps.  Father, 
tell  her  I  do  not  want  to  see  her,  or  anybody  else.  Don't  let 
her  come  in  here,"  cried  Cornelia,  with  a  nervous  start. 

Mr.  Graham,  who  felt  a  certain  awe  of  his  willful  child, 
notwithstanding  his  equable  temper,  immediately  withdrew. 
His  wife  hastened  into  the  room,  and,  with  trembling  lips, 
touched  her  daughter's  cheek  and  brow,  exclaiming: 

"  Oh,  my  child,  what  a  narrow  escape !  It  is  horrible  to 
think  of — horrible !  " 

"  Not  at  all,  mother,  seeing  that  nothing  was  hurt  in  the 
least.  I  was  sick,  anyway,  as  I  told  you.  Don't  you  see  Beu- 
lah sitting  there  ?  " 

Mrs.  Graham  welcomed  her  guest  cordially. 

"  You  have  a  great  deal  of  presence  of  mind,  I  believe,  Miss 
Beulah?  You  are  fortunate." 

"  Mother,  will  you  send  up  tea  for  us  ?  We  want  a  quiet 
time;  at  least  I  do,  and  Beulah  will  stay  with  me." 

"  But,  my  love,  it  is  selfish  to  exclude  the  balance  of  the 
family.  Why  not  come  down  to  the  sitting-room,  where  we 
can  all  be  together  ?  "  pleaded  the  mother. 

"  Because  I  prefer  staying  just  where  I  am." 

"  May  I  come  in  ? "  asked  Eugene,  at  the  door. 

"  No ;  go  and  sing  duets  with  Netta,  and  amuse  yourself 
downstairs,"  said  she,  shortly. 

Nevertheless  he  came  in,  shook  hands  with  Beulah,  and, 
leaning  over  the  back  of  Cornelia's  chair,  asked,  tenderly : 

"How  is  my  sister?  I  heard  on  the  street  that  you  were 
injured." 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  the  whole  city  will  be  bemoaning  my  tragic 
fate.  I  am  not  at  all  hurt,  Eugene." 

"  Beulah,  you  will  be  with  us  to-morrow,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  am  obliged  to  dine  out ;  I  shall  be  at  home, 
however,  most  of  the  day.  I  called  the  other  evening,  but  you 
were  not  at  home." 

"  Yes ;  I  was  sorry  I  did  not  see  you,"  said  Beulah,  looking 
steadily  at  his  flushed  face  and  sparkling  eyes. 

"Dine  out  Eugene!  For  what,  I  should  like  to  know?" 
cried  Cornelia,  rising  herself  in  her  chair. 

"  Henderson  and  Milbank  are  both  here,  you  know,  and  I 
could  not  refuse  to  join  them  in  a  Christmas  dinner." 


BEULAH.  79 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  invite  them  to  dine  at  your  own 
house  ? "  Her  voice  was  angry ;  her  glance  searching. 

"  The  party  was  made  up  before  I  knew  anything  about  it. 
They  will  all  be  here  in  the  evening." 

"  I  doubt  it ! "  said  she,  sneeringly.  The  flush  deepened  on 
his  cheek,  and  he  bit  his  lip. 

"I  hope  my  sister  will  be  well  enough  to  take  part  in  the 
tableux  to-morrow  evening."  Taking  her  beautifully  molded 
hand,  he  looked  at  her  anxiously.  Her  piercing,  black  eyes 
were  riveted  on  his  countenance,  as  she  answered: 

"I  don't  know,  Eugene;  I  have  long  since  abandoned  the 
hope  of  ever  being  well  again.  Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  get 
down  to  the  parlors.  There  is  Antoinette  in  the  passage. 
Good-night."  She  motioned  him  away.  He  kissed  her  ten- 
derly, shook  hands  a  second  time  with  Beulah,  and  left  the 
room.  Cornelia  bowed  her  head  on  her  palms,  and,  though 
her  features  were  concealed,  Beulah  thought  she  moaned. 

"  Cornelia,  are  you  ill  again  ?    What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

The  feeble  woman  lifted  her  haggard  face,  and  answered: 

"What  can  you  do?  That  remains  to  be  seen.  Something 
must  be  done.  Beulah,  I  may  die  at  any  hour,  and  you  must 
save  him." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Beulah's  heart  throbbed  painfully. 

"  Did  you  detect  it  when  he  first  came  home  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"Oh,  it  is  like  a  hideous  nightmare!  I  cannot  realize  that 
Eugene,  so  noble,  so  pure,  so  refined,  could  ever  have  gone  to 
the  excesses  he  has  been  guilty  of.  He  left  home  all  that  he 
should  be;  but  five  years  abroad  have  strangely  changed  him. 
My  parents  will  not  see  it ;  my  mother  says :  *  All  young  men 
are  wild  at  first ' ;  and  my  father  shuts  his  eyes  to  his  altered 
habits.  Eugene  constantly  drinks  too  much.  I  hope  I  shall 
be  quiet  in  my  grave  before  I  see  him  drunk!  It  would  kill 
me,  I  verily  believe,  to  know  that  he  had  so  utterly  degraded 
himself."  She  shaded  her  face  with  her  hands  and  Beulah 
replied,  hastily: 

"He'  surely  cannot  fall  so  low!  Eugene  will  never  reel 
home,  an  unconscious  drunkard !  Oh,  no !  it  is  impossible ! 
impossible !  The  stars  in  heaven  will  fall  first !  " 

"  Do  you  believe  what  you  say  ?  " 

"I  hope  it;  and  hope  engenders  faith,"  answered  Beulah. 
.   A  bitter  smile  curled  Cornelia's  lips,  and,  sinking  back  in 
her  chair,  she  continued: 

"  Where  excessive  drinking  is  not  considered  a  disgrace, 
young  men  indulge  without  a  thought  of  the  consequences. 
Instead  of  excluding  them  from  genteel  circles,  their  dissipa- 
tion is  smoothed  over,  or  unnoticed;  and  it  has  become  so 
prevalent  in  this  city,  that  of  all  the  gentlemen  whom  I  meet 


80  BEULAH. 

in  so-called  fashionable  society,  there  are  very  few  who  ab- 
stain from  the  wine  cup.  I  have  seen  them  at  parties,  stag- 
gering throng  a  quadrille,  or  talking  the  most  disgusting  non- 
sense to  girls,  who  have  long  since  ceased  to  regard  dissipa- 
tion as  a  stigma  upon  the  names  and  characters  of  their 
friends.  I  tell  you,  the  dissipation  of  the  young  men  here  is 
sickening  to  think  of.  Since  I  came  home  I  have  been  con- 
stantly reminded  of  it;  and,  oh,  Eugene  is  following  in  their 
disgraceful  steps !  I  fancied  that  I  could  readily  redeem  Eu- 
gene from  his  dangerous  lapses,  but  my  efforts  are  rendered 
useless  by  the  temptations  which  assail  him  from  every  quar- 
ter. He  shuns  me;  hourly  the  barriers  between  us  strengthen. 
Beulah,  I  look  to  you.  He  loves  you,  and  your  influence  might 
prevail,  if  properly  directed.  You  must  save  him!  You 
must ! " 

u  I  have  not  the  influence  you  ascribe  to  me." 

"  Do  not  say  so !  do  not  say  so !  Are  you  not  to  be  his  wife 
one  day  ? " 

"  His  wife !    Cornelia  Graham,  are  you  mad  ? " 

"He  told  me  that  he  expected  to  marry  you;  that  it  had 
always  been  a  settled  thing.  Beulah,  you  have  not  broken  the 
engagement — surely  you  have  not  ? " 

"  No  positive  engagement  ever  existed.  While  we  were  chil- 
dren, we  often  spoke  of  our  future  as  one,  but  of  late  neither 
of  us  has  alluded  to  the  subject.  We  are  only  friends,  linked 
by  memories  of  early  years.  Nay,  since  his  return,  we  have 
almost  become  strangers." 

"  He  has  deceived  me !  Fool  that  I  was  not  to  probe  the 
mask !  "  Cornelia  started  up  and  paced  the  floor  with  uncon- 
trollable agitation. 

"  Explain  yourself ;  Eugene  is  above  suspicion !  "  cried  Beu- 
lah, with  pale,  fluttering  lips. 

"Explain  myself!  Then  understand  that  my  honorable 
brother  professed  to  love  you,  and  pretended  that  he  expected 
to  marry  you,  simply  and  solely  to  blind  me,  in  order  to  con- 
ceal the  truth.  I  taxed  him  with  a  preference  for  Antoinette 
Dupres,  which  I  fancied  his  manner  evinced.  He  denied  it 
most  earnestly,  protesting  that  he  felt  bound  to  you.  Now  do 
you  understand?" 

"  Still  you  may  misjudge  him,"  returned  Beulah,  haughtily. 

"  No,  no !  My  mother  has  seen  it  all  along.  But,  fool  that 
I  was,  I  believed  his  words!  Now,  Beulah,  if  he  marries  An- 
toinette, you  will  be  amply  revenged,  or  my  name  is  not  Cor-  * 
nelia  Graham ! "  She  laughed  bitterly,  and,  dropping  some 
medicine  from  a  vial,  swallowed  the  potion  and  resumed  her 
walk  up  and  down  the  floor. 

"Eevenged!  What  is  it  to  me  that  he  should  marry  your 
cousin?  If  he  loves  her,  it  is  no  business  of  mine,  and  cer- 


BEULAH.  81 

tainly  you  have  no  right  to  object.  You  are  miserably  de- 
ceived if  you  imagine  that  his  marriage  would  cause  me  an 
instant's  regret.  Think  you  I  could  love  a  man  whom  I  knew 
to  be  my  inferior?  Indeed,  you  know  little  of  my  nature." 
She  spoke  with  curling1  lips  and  a  proud  smile. 

"You  place  an  exalted  estimate  upon  yourself." 

They  looked  at  each  other  half  defiantly  for  a  moment ;  then 
the  heiress  bowed  her  head  and  said,  in  low,  broken  tones: 

"Oh,  Beulah!  Beulah!  child  of  poverty;  would  I  could 
change  places  with  you ! " 

"You  are  weak,  Cornelia,"  answered  Beulah,  gravely. 

"In  some  respects,  perhaps,  I  am;  but  you  are  bold  to  tell 
me  so." 

"  Genuine  friendship  ignores  all  hesitancy  in  speaking  the 
truth.  You  sought  me;  I  am  very  candid — perhaps  blunt.  If 
my  honesty  does  not  suit  you,  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  'discon- 
tinue our  intercourse." 

"  You  wish  me  to  understand  that  you  do  not  need  my  so- 
ciety— my  patronage  ?  " 

"  Patronage  implies  dependence,  which,  in  this  instance, 
does  not  exist.  An  earnest,  self-reliant  woman  cannot  be 
patronized  in  the  sense  in  which  you  employ  the  term."  She 
could  not  forbear  smiling.  The  thought  of  being  under  pa- 
tronage was,  to  her,  supremely  ridiculous. 

"You  do  not  want  my  friendship,  then?" 

"I  doubt  whether  you  have  any  to  bestow.  You  seem  to 
have  no  love  for  anything,"  replied  Beulah,  coldly. 

"  Oh,  you  wrong  me ! "  cried  Cornelia,  passionately. 

"  If  I  do,  it  is  your  own  fault.  I  only  judge  you  from  what 
you  have  shown  of  your  nature." 

"Eemember,  I  have  been  an  invalid  all  my  life." 

"  Sit  down,  Cornelia ;  you  are  not  able  to  bear  this  excite- 
ment. For  the  present,  let  Eugene  and  his  future  rest,  and  try 
to  compose  yourself." 

The  colorless  face,  with  its  gleaming  eyes,  was  suddenly 
lifted,  and,  throwing  her  arms  round  Beulah's  neck,  Cornelia 
rested  her  proud  head  on  the  orphan's  shoulder. 

"  Be  my  friend  while  I  live.  Oh,  give  me  some  of  your 
calm  contentment,  some  of  your  strength ! " 

"I  am  your  friend,  Cornelia;  I  will  always  be  such;  but 
every  soul  must  be  sufficient  for  itself.  Do  not  look  to  me; 
lean  upon  your  own  nature;  it  will  suffice  for  all  its  needs." 

With  the  young  teacher,  pity  was  almost  synonymous  with 
contempt;  and  as  she  looked  at  the  joyless  face  of  her  com- 
panion, she  could  not  avoid  thinking  her  miserably  weak. 


82  BEULAH. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

CHRISTMAS  day  was  sunny  and  beautiful.  The  bending  sky 
was  as  deeply  blue  as  that  which  hung  over  Bethlehem  eigh- 
teen hundred  years  before;  God's  coloring  had  not  faded. 

Ragged  boys  and  barefooted  girls  tripped  gayly  along  the 
streets,  merry  and  uncomplaining;  and  surrounded  by  velvet, 
silver  and  marble,  by  every  superfluity  of  luxury,  Cornelia  Gra- 
ham, with  a  bitter  heart  and  hopeless  soul,  shivered  in  her 
easy-chair  before  a  glowing  fire.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Graham  and 
Antoinette  sat  round  the  hearth,  discussing  the  tableaux  for 
the  evening,  while,  with  her  cheek  upon  her  hand,  Cornelia 
listlessly  fingered  a  diamond  necklace  which  her  father  had 
just  given  her.  The  blazing  jewels  slipped  through  her  pale 
fingers  all  unnoticed,  and  she  looked  up  abstractedly  when  Mr. 
Graham  touched  her  and  repeated  his  question  for  the  third 
time: 

"  My  child,  won't  you  come  down  to  the  sitting-room  ? " 

"No,  sir;  I  am  better  here." 

"But,  of  course,  Miss  Benton  will  desire  to  see  the  tab- 
leaux. You  would  not  keep  her  from  them  ? " 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Graham,  I  prefer  remaining  with  Cor- 
nelia," answered  Beulah. 

"  Mother,  where  is  Eugene  ?  " 

"I  really  do  not  know.    Do  you,  Mr.  Graham?" 

"He  has  gone  to  the  hotel  to  see  some  of  his  old  Heidel- 
berg friends,"  answered  Netta,  examining  Beulah's  plain  me- 
rino dress  very  minutely  as  she  spoke. 

"When  he  comes  home,  be  good  enough  to  tell  him  that  I 
wish  to  see  him." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear."  Mrs.  Graham  left  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  her  husband  and  niece.  For  some  time  Cornelia  sat 
just  as  they  left  her;  the  diamond  necklace  slipped  down,  and 
lay,  a  glittering  heap  on  the  carpet,  and  the  delicate  waxen 
hands  drooped  listlessly  over  the  arms  of  the  chair. 

There  was  a  hasty  rap  at  the  door,  and,  as  Eugene  entered, 
the  cloud  on  Cornelia's  brow  instantly  lifted.  His  gay, 
Christmas  greeting,  and  sunny,  handsome  face  diverted  her 
mind,  and  as  her  hand  rested  on  his  arm,  her  countenance 
evinced  a  degree  of  intense  love,  such  as  Beulah  had  supposed 
her  incapable  of  feeling. 

"  You  intend  to  come  down  to-night,  do  you  not  ? " 

"  Not  if  I  can  avoid  it.  Eugene,  take  Beulah  into  the  par- 
lor, and  ask  Antoinette  to  sing.  Afterwards,  make  Beulah 
sing,  also,  and  be  sure  to  leave  all  the  doors  open,  so  that  I  can 
hear.  Mind,  you  must  not  detain  her  long." 

Beulah  would  have  demurred,  but  at  this  moment  she  saw 


BEULAH.  83 

Dr.  Hartwell's  buggy  approaching  the  house.  Her  heart 
seemed  to  spring  to  her  lips,  and,  feeling  that  after  their  last 
unsatisfactory  interview  she  was  in  no  mood  to  meet  him,  she 
quickly  descended  the  steps.  The  doorbell  uttered  a  sharp  peal 
as  they  reached  the  hall,  and  she  had  just  time  to  escape  into 
the  parlor  when  the  doctor  was  ushered  in. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Eugene. 

"  Ask  Miss  Dupres  to  sing,  will  you  ? " 

He  looked  at  her  curiously  an  instant,  then  turned  away 
and  persuaded  the  little  beauty  to  sing. 

She  took  her  seat  and  ran  her  jeweled  fingers  over  the  pearl 
keys  with  an  air  which  very  clearly  denoted  her  opinion  of  her 
musical  proficiency. 

"  Well,  sir,  what  will  you  have  ?  " 

"  That  favorite  morceau  from  '  Linda.'  " 

"You  have  never  heard  it,  I  suppose,"  said  she,  glancing 
over  her  shoulder  at  the  young  teacher. 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  it,"  answered  Beulah. 

Antoinette  half  shrugged  her  shoulders,  as  if  she  thought  the 
statement  questionable,  and  began  the  song.  Beulah  listened 
attentively;  she  was  conscious  of  feeling  more  than  ordinary 
interest  in  this  performance,  and  almost  held  her  breath  as 
the  clear,  silvery  voice  caroled  through  the  most  intricate 
passages. 

"  Sing  me  something  else,"  said  she. 

Antoinette  bit  her  lips,  and  answered,  ungraciously: 

"  No ;  I  shall  have  to  sing  to-night." 

"Now,  Beulah,  I  shall  hear  you."  Eugene  spoke  rather 
carelessly. 

"  Do  you  really  wish  to  hear  me,  Eugene  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  do,"  said  he,  with  some  surprise. 

"  And  so  do  I,"  added  Mrs.  Graham,  leaning  against  the 
piano,  and  exchanging  glances  with  Antoinette. 

Beulah  looked  up,  and  asked,  quietly: 

"Eugene,  shall  I  sing  you  a  ballad?  One  of  those  simple 
old  tunes  we  used  to  love  so  well  in  days  gone  by." 

"  No,  no.     Something  operatic,"  cried  Antoinette. 

"Well,  then,  Miss  Dupres,  select  something." 

"Can't  you  favor  us  with  *  Casta-Diva'? "  returned  the 
beauty,  with  something  very  like  a  sneer. 

Beulah's  eyes  gave  a  momentary  flash,  but  by  a  powerful 
effort  she  curbed  her  anger,  and  commenced  the  song. 

It  was  amusing  to  mark  the  expression  of  utter  astonish- 
ment which  gradually  overspread  Antoinette's  face  as  the  mag- 
nificent voice  of  her  despised  rival  swelled  in  waves  of 
entrancing  melody  through  the  lofty  rooms.  Eugene  looked 
quite  as  much  amazed.  Beulah  felt  her  triumph,  and  heartily 
enjoyed  it.  There  was  a  sparkle  in  her  eye,  and  a  proud  smile 


84  BEULAH. 

on  her  lip,  which  she  did  not  attempt  to  conceal.    As  she  rose 
from  the  piano,  Eugene  said,  eagerly: 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  your  possessing  such  a  voice.  It  is 
superb — perfectly  magnificent!  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  of 
it  before?" 

"  You  heard  it  long  ago,  in  the  olden  time,"  said  she. 

"  Ah,  but  it  has  improved  incredibly." 

"  It  is  the  culture,  then,  not  the  voice  itself  ? " 

"  It  is  both.    Who  taught  you?  " 

"  I  had  several  teachers,  but  owe  what  excellence  I  may 
possess  to  my  guardian.  He  aided  me  more  than  all  the  in- 
struction-books that  ever  were  compiled." 

"  You  must  come  and  practice  with  the  musical  people  who 
meet  here  very  frequently,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"Thank  you,  madam;  I  have  other  engagements  which  will 
prevent  my  doing  so." 

Nonsense,   Beulah ;  we  have  claims  on  you.     I  certainly 
have,"  answered  Eugene. 

"  Have  you  ?    I  was  not  aware  of  the  fact." 

There  was  a  patronizing  manner  in  all  this  which  she  felt 
no  disposition  to  submit  to. 

"  Most  assuredly  I  have,  Beulah,  and  mean  to  maintain 
them." 

She  perfectly  understood  the  haughty  expression  of  his 
countenance,  and,  moving  toward  the  door,  replied,  coldly: 

"  Another  time,  Eugene,  we  will  discuss  them." 

She  did  not  pause  to  hear  what  followed,  but  ran  up  the 
steps,  longing  to  get  out  of  a  house  where  she  plainly  per- 
ceived her  presence  was  by  no  means  desired.  Cornelia  sat 
with  her  head  drooped  on  her  thin  hand,  and,  without  looking 
up,  said,  more  gently  than  was  her  custom: 

"Why  did  you  hurry  back  so  soon?" 

"  Because  the  parlor  was  not  particularly  attractive." 

There  came  the  first  good-humored  laugh  which  Beulah  had 
ever  heard  from  Cornelia's  lips,  as  the  latter  replied: 

"  What  friends  you  and  old,  growling  Diogenes  would  have 
been.  Pray,  how  did  my  cousin  receive  your  performance  ? " 

"  Very  much  as  if  she  wished  me  amid  the  ruins  of  Persep- 
olis,  where  I  certainly  shall  be  before  I  inflict  anything  more 
upon  her.  Cornelia,  do  not  ask  or  expect  me  to  come  here 
again,  for  I  will  not;  of  course,  it  is  quite  as  palpable  to  you 
as  to  me  that  I  am  no  favorite  with  your  parents,  and  some- 
thing still  less  with  your  cousin.  Consequently,  you  need  not 
expect  to  see  me  here  again." 

"Do  not  say  so,  Beulah;  you  must,  you  shall,  come,  and  I 
will  see  that  no  one  dares  interfere  with  my  wishes.  My 
father  and  mother  dread  lest  Eugene  should  return  to  his 
'  boyish  fancy '  (as  you  are  pleased  to  term  it),  and  look  on 


BEULAH.  85 

you  with  jealous  eyes.  Oh !  Mammon,  is  the  God  of  this  gene- 
ration. But,  Beulah,  you  must  not  allow  all  this  miserable 
maneuvering  to  keep  you  from  me.  If  you  do,  I  will  very 
soon  succeed  in  making  this  home  of  mine  very  unpleasant 
for  Antoinette  Dupres." 

"Do  not  excite  yourself  so  unnecessarily,  Cornelia.  What 
you  may  or  may  not  think  of  your  relatives  is  no  concern  of 
mine.  You  have  a  carriage  always  at  your  command,  and 
when  you  desire  to  see  a  real  friend,  you  can  visit  me.  Let 
this  suffice  for  this  subject.  Suppose  we  have  a  game  of  chess 
or  backgammon?  What  do  you  say?" 

"  I  am  in  no  humor  for  games.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  about 
your  leaving  Dr.  Hartwell's  protection." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell." 

"  He  is  a  singular  being  ?  " 

Receiving  no  answer,  she  added,  impatiently: 

"Don't  you  think  so?" 

"  I  do,  in  the  sense  of  great  superiority." 

"  If  he  is  so  faultless  and  unequaled,  pray,  why  did  not  you 
remain  in  his  house  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  accounting  to  anyone  for  my  mo- 
tives or  my  actions." 

"  You  need  not  be  so  fierce.  I  like  Dr.  Hartwell  quite  as 
well  as  you  do,  I  dare  say;  but  probably  I  know  more  of  his 
history." 

"  It  is  all  immaterial  to  me.  Drop  the  subject,  if  you  please, 
and  let  me  read  to  you.  I  believe  I  came  here  for  quiet  com- 
panionship, not  cross-questioning." 

"Beulah,  the  world  says  you  are  to  marry  your  guardian. 
I  do  not  ask  from  impertinent  curiosity,  but  sincere  friend- 
ship— is  it  true  ?  " 

"  About  as  true  as  your  notion  of  my  marriage  with  Eugene. 
No;  scarcely  so  plausible." 

"  Our  families  were  connected,  you  know." 

"No,  I  neither  know,  nor  wish  to  know.  He  never  alluded 
to  his  wife,  or  his  history,  and  I  have  just  now  no  desire  to 
hear  anything  about  the  matter.  He  is  the  best  friend  I 
ever  had;  I  want  to  honor  and  reverence  him  always; 
and,  of  course,  the  world's  version  of  his  domestic  affairs 
does  him  injustice.  So,  be  good  enough  to  say  no  more  about 
him." 

"  Very  well.  On  hearing  your  voice  from  the  parlor,  he  left 
a  small  parcel,  which  he  requested  me  to  give  you.  He  laid 
it  on  the  table,  I  believe;  yes,  there  it  is.  Now  read  '  Egmont' 
to  me,  if  you  please." 

Cornelia  crossed  the  room,  threw  herself  on  a  couch,  and 
settled  her  pillow  comfortably.  Beulah  took  the  parcel,  which 
was  carefully  sealed,  and  wondered  what  it  contained.  It  was 


86  BEULAH. 

heavy,  and  felt  hard.  They  had  parted  in  anger;  what  could 
it  possibly  be?  Cornelia's  black  eyes  were  on  her  countenance. 
She  put  the  package  in  her  pocket,  seated  herself  by  the  couch, 
and  commenced  "  Egmont." 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  indescribable  relief  that  the  orphan 
awoke  at  dawn  the  following  morning,  and  dressed  by  the  gray 
twilight.  The  young  teacher  could  not  wait  for  the  late  break- 
fast of  the  luxurious  Grahams,  and  just  as  the  first  level  ray  of 
sunshine  flashed  up  from  the  east,  she  tied  on  her  bonnet,  and 
noiselessly  entered  Cornelia's  room.  The  heavy  curtains  kept 
it  close  and  dark,  and  on  the  hearth  a  taper  burned  with  pale, 
sickly  light.  Cornelia  slept  soundly;  but  her  breathing  was 
heavy  and  irregular,  and  the  face  wore  a  scowl,  as  if  some 
severe  pain  had  distorted  it.  Beulah  felt  tears  of  compassion 
weighing  down  her  lashes  as  she  watched  the  haggard  counte- 
nance of  this  petted  child  of  fortune;  but,  unwilling  to  rouse 
her,  she  silently  stole  down  the  steps.  The  hall  was  dark;  the 
smell  of  gas  almost  stifling.  Of  course,  the  servants  followed 
the  example  of  their  owners,  and,  as  no  one  appeared,  she  un- 
locked the  street  door,  and  walked  homeward  with  a  sensation 
of  pleasurable  relief. 

She  ran  up  to  her  room,  threw  open  the  blinds,  looped  back 
the  curtains,  and  drew  that  mysterious  package  from  her 
pocket.  She  was  very  curious  to  see  the  contents,  and  broke 
the  seal  with  trembling  fingers.  The  outer  wrappings  fell  off, 
and  disclosed  an  oblong  papier-mache  case.  It  opened  with  a 
spring,  and  revealed  to  her  a  beautiful  watch  and  chain,  bear- 
ing her  name  in  delicate  tracery.  A  folded  slip  of  paper  lay 
on  the  crimson  velvet  lining  of  the  box,  and,  recognizing  the 
characters,  she  hastily  read  this  brief  sentence : 

Wear  it  constantly,  Beulah,  to  remind  you  that,  in  adversity, 
you  still  have  A  GUARDIAN. 

Tears  rushed  unrestrained  as  she  looked  at  the  beautiful 
gift.  Not  for  an  instant  did  she  dream  of  accepting  it,  and 
she  shrank  shudderingly  from  widening  the  breach  which  al- 
ready existed  by  a  refusal.  Locking  up  the  slip  of  paper  in 
her  workbox,  she  returned  the  watch  to  its  case,  and  carefully 
retied  the  parcel.  Long  before  she  had  wrapped  the  purse 
in  paper,  and  prevailed  on  Clara  to  give  it  to  the  doctor.  He 
had  received  it  without  comment,  but  she  could  not  return  the 
watch  in  the  same  way,  for  Clara  was  now  able  to  attend  regu- 
larly to  her  school  duties,  and  it  was  very  uncertain  when  she 
would  see  him.  Yet  she  felt  comforted,  for  this  gift  assured 
her  that,  however  coldly  he  chose  to  treat  her  when  they  met, 
he  had  not  thrown  her  off  entirely.  With  all  her  independence, 
she  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  his  utter  alienation;  and 


BEULAH.  87 

the  consciousness  of  his  remaining  interest  thrilled  her  heart 
with  gladness. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ONE  Saturday  morning,  some  days  subsequent  to  her  visit 
to  the  Grahams,  Beulah  set  off  for  the  business  part  of  the 
city,  in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  place  some  manuscripts 
advantageously.  Her  hopes  were  high  when  she  started  out, 
but  all  she  could  get  from  the  magazine  editor  to  whom  she 
applied  was  a  promise  to  look  over  her  articles,  and,  if  they 
were  worth  printing,  to  print  them;  and,  if  worth  paying  for, 
to  pay  for  them  at  his  own  figure. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  Beulah  was  pre- 
paring to  call  upon  Pauline,  when  the  door  was  opened  and 
Pauline  herself  rushed  in. 

The  impulsive  girl  threw  her  arms  round  Beulah's  neck, 
and  kissed  her  repeatedly. 

"  Be  quite,  and  let  me  look  at  you.  Oh,  Pauline,  how  beau- 
tiful you  have  grown ! "  cried  Beulah,  who  could  not  forbear 
expressing  the  admiration  she  felt. 

"  Yes ;  the  artists  in  Florence  raved  considerably  about  my 
beauty.  I  can't  tell  you  the  number  of  times  I  sat  for  my 
portrait.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  be  pretty;  I  enjoy  it  amaz- 
ingly," said  she,  with  all  the  candor  which  had  characterized 
her  in  childhood;  and,  with  a  vigorous  squeeze  of  Beulah's 
hand,  she  continued : 

"  I  was  astonished  when  I  came,  and  found  that  you  had 
left  Uncle  Guy,  and  were  teaching  little  ragged,  dirty  chil- 
dren their  A,  B,  C's.  What  possessed  you  to  do  such  a  silly 
thing?" 

"  Duty,  my  dear  Pauline." 

"  Oh.  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  begin  about  duty.  Er- 
nest—  She  paused,  a  rich  glow  swept  over  her  face,  and, 
shaking  back  her  curls,  she  added: 

"  You  must  quit  all  this.     I  say  you  must ! " 

"  How  you  do  rattle  on  about  things  you  don't  comprehend," 
laughed  Beulah. 

"  Come,  don't  set  me  down  for  a  simpleton !  I  tell  you  I 
am  in  earnest!  You  must  come  back  to  Uncle  Guy!" 

"  Pauline,  it  is  worse  than  useless  to  talk  of  this  matter. 
How  is  Mr.  Lockhart's  health  ? " 

"  Very  poor,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  He  looks  so  thin  and  pale, 
I  often  tell  him  he  would  make  quite  as  good  a  pictured  saint 
as  any  we  saw  abroad." 

"  What  makes  you  so  restless,  Pauline." 

"Because  I  want  to  tell  you  something,  and  really  do  not 
know  how  to  begin,"  said  she,  laughing  and  blushing. 


88  BEULAH. 

"  But  why  should  you  hesitate  to  disclose  it  ? " 

"  Simply  because  your  tremendous  gray  eyes  have  such  an 
owlish  way  of  looking  people  out  of  countenance.  Now  don't 
look  quite  through  me,  and  I  will  pluck  up  my  courage,  and 
confess.  Beulah — I  am  going  to  be  married  soon."  She  hid 
her  crimsoned  cheeks  behind  her  hands. 

"  Married  ?  impossible !  "  cried  Beulah. 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  am !  Here  is  my  engagement  ring.  Now, 
the  most  astonishing  part  of  the  whole  affair  is  that  my  in- 
tended sovereign  is  a  minister !  " 

"You  a  minister's  wife,  Pauline?  Oh,  child,  you  are  jest- 
ing ! "  said  Beulah,  with  an  incredulous  smile. 

"  No ;  absurd  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  nevertheless  true.  I  am 
to  be  married  in  March.  Ma  says  I  am  a  fool;  Mr.  Lockhart 
encourages  and  supports  me;  and  Uncle  Guy  laughs  heartily 
every  time  the  affair  is  alluded  to.  At  first,  before  we  went  to 
Europe,  there  was  violent  opposition  from  my  mother,  but  she 
found  I  was  in  earnest,  and  now  it  is  all  settled  for  March. 
Uncle  Guy  knows  Ernest  Mortimer,  and  esteems  him  very 
highly,  but  thinks  that  I  am  the  last  woman  in  the  United 
States  who  ought  to  be  a  minister's  wife.  I  believe  he  told 
Ernest  as  much,  but,  of  course,  he  did  not  believe  him." 

"How  long  have  you  known  him?" 

"  About  two  years.  I  am  rather  afraid  of  him,  to  tell  you 
the  honest  truth.  He  is  so  grave,  and  has  such  rigid  notions, 
that  I  wonder  very  much  what  ever  induced  his  holiness  to 
fancy  such  a  heedless  piece  of  womanhood,  as  he  is  obliged  to 
know  I  am ;  for  I  never  put  on  any  humility  or  sanctity.  But 
you  shall  all  see  that  I  am  worthy  of  Mr.  Mortimer's  love." 

Her  beautiful  face  was  radiant  with  hope,  yet  in  the  violet 
eyes  there  lurked  unshed  tears. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  are  so  happy,  Pauline ;  and,  if  you 
will,  I  am  very  sure  you  can  make  yourself  all  that  Mr.  Morti- 
mer could  desire." 

"  I  am  resolved  I  will.  Ernest  is  not  dependent  on  his  salary ; 
his  father  is  considered  wealthy,  I  believe,  which  fact  recon- 
ciles ma  in  some  degree.  To-morrow  he  will  preach  in  Dr. 
Hew's  church,  and  you  must  go  to  hear  him.  I  have  never  yet 
heard  him  preach,  and  am  rather  anxious  to  know  what  sort  of 
sermons  I  am  to  listen  to  for  the  remainder  of  my  life." 

"  I  shall  certainly  go  to  hear  him,"  answered  Beulah. 

"  Of  course  you  will,  and  after  service  you  must  go  home  and 
spend  the  day  with  me.  Ma  begs  that  you  will  not  refuse  to 
dine  with  her ;  and,  as  you  are  engaged  all  the  week,  Uncle  Guy 
expects  you  also;  that  is,  he  told  me  to  insist  on  your  coming, 
but  thought  you  would  probably  decline.  Will  you  come  ?  Do 
say  yes." 

"  I  don't  know  yet.    I  will  see  you  at  church." 


BEULAH.  89 

Thus  they  parted. 

On  Sabbath  afternoon  Beulah  and  Pauline  sat  at  the  parlor 
window  discussing  the  various  occurrences  of  their  long  separa- 
tion. Pauline  talked  of  her  future — how  bright  it  was;  how 
very  much  she  and  Ernest  loved  each  other,  and  how  busy  she 
would  be  when  she  had  a  home  of  her  own.  Beulah  was  much 
amused  at  the  childlike  simplicity  with  which  she  discussed 
her  future,  and  began  to  think  the  whole  affair  rather  ludicrous, 
when  Pauline  started,  and  exclaimed,  as  the  blood  dyed  her 
cheeks : 

"  There  is  Ernest  coming  up  the  walk ! " 

He  came  in,  and  greeted  her  with  gentle  gravity.  He  was 
a  dignified,  fine-looking  man,  with  polished  manners,  and  per- 
fect self-possession.  He  was  highly  cultivated  in  all  his  tastes, 
agreeable,  and,  in  fine,  a  Christian  gentleman.  Pauline  seemed 
to  consider  his  remarks  oracular,  and  Beulah  wondered  what 
singular  freak  induced  this  staid,  learned  clergyman  to  select  a 
companion  so  absolutely  antagonistic  in  every  element  of  char- 
acter. But  a  glance  at  Pauline's  perfectly  beautiful  face  ex- 
plained the  mystery.  How  could  anyone  help  loving  her?  she 
was  so  radiant  and  so  winning  in  her  unaffected  artlessness. 
Beulah  conjectured  that  they  might,  perhaps,  entertain  each 
other  without  her  assistance,  and  soon  left  them  for  the  green- 
house, which  was  connected  with  the  parlors  by  a  glass  door. 
She  saw  Dr.  Hartwell  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  greenhouse. 
He  was  clipping  the  withered  flowers  from  a  luxuriant  white 
japonica,  the  same  that  once  furnished  ornaments  for  her  hair. 
Evidently  he  was  rather  surprised  to  see  her  there,  but  con- 
tinued clipping  the  faded  blossoms,  and  whistled  to  his  dog. 
Charon  acknowledged  the  invitation  by  another  bark,  but 
nestled  his  great  head  against  Beulah,  and  stood  quite  still, 
while  she  passed  her  hand  caressingly  over  him.  She  fancied  a 
smile  crossed  her  guardian's  lips,  but  when  he  turned  toward 
her  there  was  no  trace  of  it,  and  he  merely  said : 

"Where  is  Pauline?" 

"  In  the  parlor,  with  Mr.  Mortimer." 

"  Here  are  the  scissors ;  cut  as  many  flowers  as  you  like." 

He  held  out  the  scissors,  but  she  shook  her  head,  and  an- 
swered, hastily : 

"  Thank  you,  I  do  not  want  any."   . 

He  looked  at  her  searchingly,  and,  observing  unshed  tears 
in  her  eyes,  said,  in  a  kinder  tone  than  he  had  yet  em- 
ployed : 

"  Beulah,  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Something  that  I  almost  despair  of  obtaining." 

"  Did  I  ever  refuse  you  anything  you  asked  ? "  said  he,  look- 
ing down  at  the  little  hands  on  his  arm,  and  at  the  pale,  anxious 
face,  with  its  deep,  troubled  eyes. 
7i 


90  BEULAH. 

"  !N"o !  and  it  is  precisely  for  that  reason  that  I  ask  assistance 
from  you  now." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  reduced  to  the  last  necessity.  What  has 
become  of  your  pride,  Beulah  ?  " 

"It  is  all  here,  in  my  heart,  sir!  thundering  to  me  to  walk 
out  and  leave  you,  since  you  are  so  unlike  yourself." 

He  looked  stern,  and  indescribably  sad.  She  glanced  up  at 
his  fascinating  eyes,  and  then  laying  her  head  down  on  his 
arm,  as  she  used  to  do  in  childhood,  said,  resolutely: 

"  Oh,  sir !  you  must  aid  me.  Whom  have  I  to  advise  me  but 
you?" 

"  My  advice  has  about  as  much  weight  with  you  as  Charon's 
would,  could  he  utter  it.  I  am  an  admirable  counselor  only  so; 
long  as  my  opinions  harmonize  with  the  dictates  of  your  own 
will.  How  am  I  to  aid  you?  I  went  at  twelve  o'clock  last 
night  to  see  a  dying  man,  and,  passing  along  the  street,  saw  a 
light  burning  from  your  window.  Two  hours  later,  as  I  re- 
turned, it  glimmered  there  still.  Why  were  you  up?  Beulah, 
what  is  the  matter  with  you?  Has  your  last  treatise  on  the 
*  Origin  of  Ideas '  run  away  with  those  of  its  author,  and 
landed  you  both  in  a  region  of  vagaries  ? " 

"  Something  worse,  sir." 

"Perhaps  German  metaphysics  has  stranded  you  on  the 
bleak,  bald  cliffs  of  Pyrrhonism  ?  " 

"  But,  sir,  the  questions  which  disturb  my  mind  are  older 
than  my  acquaintance  with  so-called  philosophic  works.  They 
have  troubled  me  from  my  childhood.  Only  show  me  the  truth 
— the  eternal  truth,  and  I  would  give  my  life  for  it !  Sir,  how 
can  you  smile  at  such  questions  as  these;  questions  involving 
the  soul's  destiny  ?  One  might  fancy  you  a  second  Parrhasius." 

She  drew  back  a  step  or  two,  and  regarded  him  anxiously, 
nay,  pleadingly,  as  though  he  held  the  key  to  the  Temple  of 
Truth,  and  would  not  suffer  her  to  pass  the  portal.  A  sarcas- 
tic smile  lighted  his  Apollo-like  face,  as  he  answered: 

"  There  is  more  truth  in  your  metaphor  than  you  imagined ; 
a  la  Parrhasius,  I  do  see  you,  a  tortured  Prometheus,  chained 
by  links  of  your  own  forging  to  the  Caucasus  of  atheism.  But 
listen  to " 

"No,  no;  not  that;  not  atheism!  God  save  me  from  that 
deepest,  blackest  gulf !  "  She  shuddered,  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

"Beulah,  you  alone  must  settle  these  questions  with  your 
own  soul;  my  solutions  would  not  satisfy  you." 

"  Still,  after  a  fashion,  you  have  solved  these  problems;  may 
I  not  know  what  your  faith  is  ?  "  said  she,  earnestly. 

"  Child,  I  have  no  faith !  I  know  that  I.  exist ;  that  a  beau- 
tiful universe  surrounds  me,  and  I  am  conscious  of  a  multitude 
of  conflicting  emotions;  but,  like  Launcelot  Smith,  I  doubt 


BEULAH.  91 

whether  I  am  '  to  pick  and  choose  myself  out  of  myself.'  Fur- 
ther than  this,  I  would  assure  you  of  nothing.  Child,  you  are 
wasting  your  energies  in  vain  endeavors  to  build  up  walls  of 
foam,  that- 


"  Sir,  I  am  no  longer  a  child!    I  am  a  woman,  and- 


"  Yes,  my  little  Beulah,  and  your  woman's  heart  will  not  be 
satisfied  long  with  these  dim  abstractions,  which  now  you  chase 
so  eagerly.  Mark  me,  there  surely  comes  a  time  when  you  will 
loathe  the  bare  name  of  metaphysics.  You  are  making  a  very 
hotbed  of  your  intellect,  while  your  heart  is  daily  becoming  a 
dreary  desert.  Take  care,  lest  the  starvation  be  so  complete 
that  eventually  you  will  be  unable  to  reclaim  it.  Dialectics  an- 
swer very  well  in  collegiate  halls,  but  will  not  content  you.  Re- 
member '  Argemone.' " 

"  She  is  a  miserable  libel  on  woman's  nature  and  intellect.  I 
scorn  the  attempted  parallel !  "  answered  Beulah,  indignantly. 

"  Very  well ;  mark  me,  though,  your  intellectual  pride  will 
yet  wreck  your  happiness." 

He  walked  out  of  the  greenhouse,  whistling  to  Charon,  who 
bounded  after  him.  Beulah  saw  from  the  slanting  sunlight  that 
the  afternoon  was  far  advanced,  and,  feeling  in  no  mood  to 
listen  to  Pauline's  nonsense,  she  found  her  bonnet  and  shawl, 
and  repaired  to  the  parlor  to  say  good-by  to  the  happy  pair, 
who  seemed  unconscious  of  her  long  'absence.  As  she  left  the 
house,  the  window  of  the  study  was  thrown  open,  and  Dr.  Hart- 
well  called  out,  carelessly: 

"  Wait,  and  let  me  order  the  carriage." 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  I  am  going  into  town  directly,  and  can  take  you  home  in 
the  buggy." 

"I  will  not  trouble  you;  I  prefer  walking.     Good-by." 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 

AMONG  the  number  of  gentlemen  whom  Beulah  occasionally 
met  at  Dr.  Asbury's  house  were  two  whose  frequent  visits  and 
general  demeanor  induced  the  impression  that  they  were  more 
than  ordinarily  interested  in  the  sisters.  Frederick  Vincent 
evinced  a  marked  preference  for  Georgia,  while  Horace  Max- 
well was  conspicuously  attentive  to  Helen.  The  former  was 
wealthy,  handsome,  indolent,  and  self-indulgent;  the  latter 
rather  superior,  as  to  business  habits,  which  a  limited  purse  per- 
emptorily demanded.  In  fine,  they  were  fair  samples,  perfect 
types  of  the  numerous  class  of  fashionable  young  men  who 
throng  all  large  cities.  Good-looking,  vain,  impudent,  heart- 
less, frivolous,  and  dissipated;  adepts  at  the  gaming-table  and 


92  BEULAH. 

pistol  gallery,  ciphers  in  an  intelligent,  refined  assembly.  Not- 
withstanding manners  of  incorrigible  effrontery  which  charac- 
terized their  clique,  the  ladies  always  received  them  with  marked 
expressions  of  pleasure,  and  the  entree  of  the  "  first  circle " 
•was  certainly  theirs. 

Mrs.  Asbury  discovered,  with  keen  sorrow  and  dismay,  that 
Georgia  was  far  more  partial  to  Vincent  than  she  had  dreamed 
possible.  She  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  obstinacy 
which  formed  the  stamen  of  Georgia's  character,  and  very  cau- 
tiously the  maternal  guidance  must  be  given.  She  began  by 
gravely  regretting  the  familiar  footing  Mr.  Vincent  had  ac- 
quired in  her  family,  and  urged  upon  Georgia  and  Helen  the 
propriety  of  discouraging  attentions  that  justified  the  world  in 
joining  their  names.  This  had  very  little  effect.  She  was  con- 
scious that,  because  of  his  wealth,  Vincent  was  courted  and  flat- 
tered by  the  most  select  and  fashionable  of  her  circle  of  ac- 
quaintances, and  knew,  alas !  that  he  was  not  more  astray  than 
the  majority  of  the  class  of  young  men  to  which  he  belonged. 
With  a  keen  pang,  she  saw  that  her  child  shrank  from  her, 
evaded  her  kind  questions,  and  seemed  to  plunge  into  the  fes- 
tivities of  the  season  with  unwonted  zest. 

Beulah's  quick  eye  readily  discerned  the  state  of  affairs  rela- 
tive to  Georgia  and  Vincent,  and  she  could  with  difficulty  re- 
strain an  expression  of  the  disgust  a  knowledge  of  his  character 
inspired.  Vincent  barely  recognized  her  when  they  chanced  to 
meet,  and,  of  all  his  antipathies,  hatred  of  Beulah  predom- 
inated. 

Cornelia  Graham  seemed  for  a  time  to  have  rallied  all  her 
strength,  and  attended  parties  and  kept  her  place  at  the  opera, 
with  a  regularity  which  argued  a  complete  recovery.  Antoinette 
Dupres  was  admired  and  flattered;  the  season  was  unusually 
gay.  What  if  death  had  so  lately  held  his  awful  assize  in  the 
city?  Bereaved  families  wrapped  their  sable  garments  about 
lonely  hearts,  and  wept  over  the  countless  mounds  in  the  ceme- 
tery; but  the  wine-cup  and  song  and  dance  went  their  accus- 
tomed rounds  in  fashionable  quarters,  and  drink,  dress,  and  be 
merry  appeared  the  all-absorbing  thought.  Into  this  gayety 
Eugene  Graham  eagerly  plunged;  night  after  night  was  spent 
in  one  continued  whirl. 

Beulah  had  not  seen  Eugene  for  many  days,  and  felt  more 
than  usually  anxious  concerning  him,  for  little  intercourse  now 
existed  between  Cornelia  and  herself.  One  evening,  however, 
as  she  stood  before  a  glass  and  arranged  her  hair  with  more 
than  ordinary  care,  she  felt  that  she  would  soon  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  judging  whether  reports  were  true.  If  he  indeed 
rushed  along  the  highway  to  ruin,  one  glance  would  discover 
to  her  the  fact.  Dr.  Asbury  wished  to  give  Pauline  Chilton  a 
party,  and  his  own  and  Mrs.  Asbury's  kind  persuasions  induced 


BEULAH.  93 

the  orphan  to  consent  to  attend.  The  evening  had  arrived ;  she 
put  on  her  simple  Swiss  muslin  dress,  without  a  wish  for  any- 
thing more  costly,  and  entered  the  carriage  her  friends  had  sent 
to  convey  her  to  the  house.  The  guests  rapidly  assembled ;  soon 
the  rooms  were  thronged  with  merry  people,  whose  moving  to 
and  fro  prevented  regular  conversation.  The  brilliant  chande- 
liers flashed  down  on  rich  silks  and  satins,  gossamer  fabrics, 
and  diamonds  which  blazed  dazzlingly.  Her  eyes  followed  Eu- 
gene's tall  form  as  the  circuit  of  the  parlors  was  rapidly  made, 
and  he  approached  the  corner  where  she  had  taken  a  seat.  He 
held  Antoinette  close  to  his  heart,  and  her  head  drooped  very 
contentedly  on  his  shoulder.  He  was  talking  to  her  as  they 
danced,  and  his  lips  nearly  touched  her  glowing  cheek.  On 
they  came,  so  close  to  Beulah  that  his  lovely  partner's  gauzy 
dress  floated  against  her,  and,  as  the  music  .quickened,  faster 
flew  the  dancers.  Beulah  looked  on  with  a  sensation  of  disgust, 
which  might  have  been  easily  read  in  her  countenance;  verily 
she  blushed  for  her  degraded  sex,  and,  sick  of  the  scene,  left  the 
window  and  retreated  to  the  library,  where  the  more  sedate 
portion  of  the  guests  were  discussing  various  topics. 

As  usual,  there  was  rushing  and  squeezing  into  the  supper- 
room,  and,  waiting  until  the  hall  was  comparatively  deserted, 
she  ran  up  to  the  dressing-room  for  her  shawl,  tired  of  the 
crowd  and  anxious  to  get  home  again.  She  remembered  that 
she  had  dropped  her  fan  behind  one  of  the  sofas  in  the  parlor, 
and,  as  all  were  at  supper,  fancied  she  could  obtain  it  unob- 
served, and  entered  the  room  for  that  purpose.  A  gentleman 
stood  by  the  fire,  but,  without  noticing  him,  she  pushed  the 
sofa  aside,  secured  her  fan,  and  was  turning  away,  when  a  well- 
known  voice  startled  her. 

"  Beulah,  where  are  you  going  ? " 

"  Home,  sir." 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  Eugene  to-night  ? " 

"  No." 

Her  guardian  looked  at  her  very  intently,  as  if  striving  to 
read  her  soul,  and  said,  slowly : 

"  Child,  he  and  Antoinette  are  sitting  in  the  front  parlor.  I 
happened  to  overhear  a  remark  as  I  passed  them.  He  is  an 
accepted  lover;  they  are  engaged." 

A  quick  shiver  ran  over  Beulah's  frame,  and  a  dark  frown 
furrowed  her  pale  brow  as  she  answered: 

"  I  feared  as  much." 

"  Why  should  you  fear,  child  ?  She  is  a  beautiful  heiress, 
and  he  loves  her,"  returned  Dr.  Hartwell. 

"No;  he  thinks  he  loves  her,  but  it  is  not  so.  He  is  fasci- 
nated by  her  beauty,  but  I  fear  the  day  will  come  when,  dis- 
covering her  true  character,  he  will  mourn  his  infatuation.  I 
know  his  nature,  and  I  know,  too,  that  she  cannot  make  him 


94  BEULAH. 

happy."  She  turned  away,  but  he  walked  on  with  her  to  the 
carriage,  handed  her  in,  and  said  "good-night"  as  coldly  as 
usual.  Meantime,  the  rattle  of  plates,  jingle  of  forks  and  spoons 
in  the  supper-room  would  have  rendered  all  conversation  impos- 
sible, had  not  the  elevation  of  voices  kept  pace  with  the  noise 
and  confusion.  At  one  end  of  the  table,  Cornelia  Graham  stood 
talking  to  a  distinguished  foreigner,  who  was  spending  a  few 
days  in  the  city.  He  was  a  handsome  man,  with  fine  colloquial 
powers,  and  seemed  much  interested  in  a  discussion  which  he 
and  Cornelia  carried  on  relative  to  the  society  of  American 
cities  as  compared  with  European.  A  temporary  lull  in  the 
hum  of  voices  allowed  Cornelia  to  hear  a  remark  made  by  a 
gentleman  quite  near  her. 

"  Miss  Laura,  who  did  you  say  that  young  lady  was  that  Mrs. 
Asbury  introduced  me  to  ?  The  one  with  such  magnificent  hair 
and  teeth  ? " 

His  companion  was  no  other  than  Laura  Martin,  whose  moth- 
er, having  built  an  elegant  house,  and  given  several  large 
parties,  was  now  a  "  fashionable,"  par  excellence.  Laura  ele- 
vated her  nose  very  perceptibly,  and  answered : 

"  Oh,  a  mere  nobody !  Beulah  Benton.  I  can't  imagine  how 
she  contrived  to  be  invited  here.  She  is  a  teacher  in  the  public 
school,  I  believe,  but  that  is  not  the  worst.  She  used  to  hire 
herself  out  as  a  servant.  Indeed,  it  is  a  fact,  she  was  my  little 
brother's  nurse  some  years  ago.  I  think  ma  hired  her  for  six 
dollars  a  month." 

Cornelia  grew  white  with  anger,  and  the  stranger  asked,  with 
a  smile,  if  he  should  consider  this  a  sample  of  the  society  she 
boasted  of.  Turning  abruptly  to  Laura,  she  replied,  with  undis- 
guised contempt: 

"  The  fates  forbid,  Mr.  Falconer,  that  you  should  judge 
American  society  from  some  of  the  specimens  you  may  see  here 
to-night.  Misfortune  placed  Miss  Benton,  at  an  early  age,  in 
an  orphan  asylum,  and  while  quite  young  she  left  it  to  earn  a 
support.  Mrs.  Martin  (this  young  lady's  mother)  hired  her  as 
a  nurse;  but  she  soon  left  this  position,  qualified  herself  to 
teach,  and  now,  with  a  fine  intellect  thoroughly  cultivated,  is 
the  pride  of  all  who  can  appreciate  true  nobility  of  soul,  and,  of 
course,  an  object  of  envy  and  detraction  to  her  inferiors,  espe- 
cially to  some  of  our  fashionable  parvenus." 

"  I  have  some  desire  to  become  acquainted  with  one  who 
could  deserve  such  eulogy  from  you,"  answered  the  foreigner, 
somewhat  amused  at  the  course  the  conversation  had  taken,  and 
quite  satisfied  that  Americans  were  accustomed  to  correct  false 
impressions  in  rather  an  abrupt  manner. 

"I  will  present  you  to  her  with  great  pleasure.  She  is  not 
here;  we  must  search  for  her."  She  took  his  arm,  and  they 
looked  for  Beulah  from  room  to  room;  finally  Dr.  Hartwell  in- 


BEULAH.  95 

formed  Cornelia  that  she  had  gone  home,  and,  tired  and  out  of 
humor,  the  latter  excused  herself,  and  prepared  to  follow  her 
friend's  example.  Her  father  was  deep  in  a  game  of  whist,  her 
mother  unwilling  to  return  home  so  soon,  and  Eugene  and 
Antoinette — where  were  they?  Dr.  Hartwell  saw  her  perplexed 
expression,  and  asked: 

'•'  Whom  are  you  looking  for  ? " 

"  Eugene." 

"  He  is  with  your  cousin  on  the  west  gallery.  I  will  conduct 
you  to  them,  if  you  wish  it."  He  offered  his  arm,  and  noticed 
the  scowl  that  instantly  darkened  her  face.  Unconsciously,  her 
fingers  grasped  his  arm  tightly,  and  she  walked  on  with  a  lower- 
ing brow.  As  they  approached  the  end  of  the  gallery,  Cornelia 
saw  that  the  two  she  sought  stood  earnestly  conversing.  Eu- 
gene's arm  passed  round  Antoinette's  waist.  Dr.  Hartwell 
watched  his  companion  closely;  the  light  from  the  window, 
gleamed  over  her  face,  and  showed  it  gray  and  rigid.  Her  white 
lips  curled  as  she  muttered: 

"  Let  us  take  another  turn  before  I  speak  to  them." 

Once  more  they  approached  the  happy  pair,  and,  leaning  for- 
ward, Cornelia  said,  hoarsely: 

"  Eugene,  my  father  is  engaged ;  come  home  with  me." 

He  looked  up,  and  answered,  carelessly :  "  Oh,  you  are  leaving 
too  early;  can't  you  entertain  yourself  a  little  longer?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

Her  freezing  tone  startled  him,  and,  for  the  first  time,  he 
noticed  the  haggard  face,  with  its  expression  of  angry  scorn. 
Her  «yes  were  fixed  on  Antoinette,  who  only  smiled,  and  looked 
triumphantly  defiant. 

"Are  you  ill,  Cornelia?  Of  course,  I  will  take  you  home  if 
you  really  desire  it.  Doctor,  I  must  consign  Miss  Dupres  to 
your  care  till  I  return." 

Eugene  by  no  means  relished  the  expression  of  his  sister's 
countenance.  She  bade  Dr.  Hartwell  adieu,  passed  her  arm 
through  her  brother's,  and  they  proceeded  to  their  carriage. 
The  ride  was  short  and  silent.  On  reaching  home,  Eugene 
conducted  Cornelia  into  the  house,  and  was  about  to  return, 
when  she  said,  imperiously: 

"  A  word  with  you  before  you  go." 

She  entered  the  sitting-room,  threw  her  wrappings  on  a  chair, 
and  began  to  divest  herself  of  bracelets  and  necklace.  Fasten- 
ing her  brilliant  black  eyes  on  his  face,  she  said,  sneeringly : 

"Eugene  Graham,  did  you  learn  dissimulation  in  the  halls 
of  Heidelberg?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Cornelia?" 

"  Where  did  you  learn  to  deceive  one  who  believed  you  pure 
and  truthful  as  an  archangel?  Answer  me  that."  Her  whole 
face  was  a  glare  of  burning  scorn. 


96  BEULAH. 

"Insulting  insinuations  are  unworthy  of  you,  and  beneath 
my  notice,"  he  proudly  replied. 

"  Well,  then,  take  the  more  insulting  truth !  What  crawling 
serpent  of  temptation  induced  you  to  tell  me  you  expected  to 
marry  Beulah  ?  No  evasion !  I  will  not  be  put  off !  " 

"  When  I  told  you  so,  I  expected  to  marry  Beulah ;  not  so 
much  because  I  loved  her,  but  because  I  supposed  that  she 
rather  considered  me  bound  to  her  by  early  ties.  I  discovered, 
however,  that  her  happiness  was  not  dependent  on  me,  and, 
therefore,  abandoned  the  idea." 

"  And  my  peerless  cousin  is  to  be  your  bride,  eh?  " 

"  Yes,  she  has  promised  me  her  hand  at  an  early  day." 

"  No  doubt.  You  don't  deserve  anything  better.  Beulah 
scorns  you;  I  see  it  in  her  eyes.  Marry  you!  You!  Oh, 
Eugene,  she  is  too  far  superior  to  you.  You  are  blind  now; 
but  the  day  will  surely  come  when  your  charmer  will,  with  her 
own  hand,  tear  the  veil  from  your  eyes,  and  you  will  curse 
your  folly.  It  is  of  no  use  to  tell  you  that  she  is  false,  heart- 
less, utterly  unprincipled;  you  will  not  believe  it,  of  course,  till 
you  find  out  her  miserable  defects  yourself.  You  will  blush 
for  the  name  which,  as  your  wife,  Antoinette  will  disgrace. 
Now  leave  me." 

She  pointed  to  the  door,  and,  too  much  incensed  to  reply,  he 
quitted  the  room  with  a  suppressed  oath,  slamming  the  door 
behind  him.  The  ensuing  day  she  was  forced  to  listen  to  the 
complacent  comments  of  her  parents,  who  were  well  pleased 
with  the  alliance.  Antoinette  was  to  return  home  immediately, 
the  marriage  would  take  place  in  June,  and  they  were  all  to 
spend  the  summer  at  the  North;  after  which  it  was  suggested 
that  the  young  couple  should  reside  with  Mr.  Graham.  Cor- 
nelia was  standing  apart  when  her  mother  made  this  proposi- 
tion, and,  turning  sharply  toward  the  members  of  her  family, 
the  daughter  exclaimed: 

"  Never !  You  all  know  that  this  match  is  utterly  odious  to 
me.  Let  Eugene  have  a  house  of  his  own;  I  have  no  mind  to 
have  Antoinette  longer  in  my  home.  Nay,  father;  it  will  not 
be  for  a  great  while.  When  I  am  gone  they  can  come;  I  rather 
think  I  shall  not  long  be  in  their  way.  While  I  do  live,  let  me 
be  quiet,  will  you  ?  " 

Her  burning,  yet  sunken  eyes,  ran  over  the  group. 

Eugene  sprang  up,  and  left  the  room;  Antoinette  put  her 
embroidered  handkerchief  to  dry  eyes;  Mrs.  Graham  looked 
distressed ;  and  her  husband  wiped  his  spectacles.  But  the  mist 
was  in  his  eyes,  and  presently  large  drops  fell  over  his  cheeks 
as  he  looked  at  the  face  and  form  of  his  only  child. 

Cornelia  saw  his  emotion;  the  great  flood  gate  of  her  heart 
seemed  suddenly  lifted.  She  passed  her  white  fingers  over  his 
gray  hair,  and  murmured,  brokenly: 


BEULAH.  97 

"  My  father — my  father !  I  have  been  a  care  and  a  sorrow  to 
you  all  my  life ;  I  am  very  wayward  and  exacting,  but  bear  with 
your  poor  child;  my  days  are  numbered.  Father,  when  my 
proud  head  lies  low  in  the  silent  grave,  then  give  others  my 
place." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  hollow  cheek,  saying, 
tenderly : 

"  My  darling,  you  break  my  heart.  What  is  there  that  I  can 
do  to  make  you  happy  ? " 

"  Give  Eugene  a  house  of  his  own,  and  let  me  be  at  peace  in 
my  home.  Will  you  do  this  for  me? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Thank  you,  my  father." 

Disengaging  his  clasping  arms,  she  left  them. 

A  few  days  after  the  party  at  her  house,  Mrs.  Asbury  returned 
home  from  a  visit  to  the  asylum  (of  which  she  had  recently 
been  elected  a  manager).  In  passing  the  parlor  door,  she  heard 
suppressed  voices,  looked  in,  and,  perceiving  Mr.  Vincent  seated 
near  Georgia,  retired,  without  speaking,  to  her  own  room.  Se- 
curing the  door,  she  sank  on  her  knees,  and  besought  an  all-wise 
God  to  direct  and  aid  her  in  her  course  of  duty.  When  Mr. 
.Vincent  took  leave,  and  Georgia  had  returned  to  her  room,  Mrs. 
Asbury  sought  her.  She  found  her  moody,  and  disposed  to 
evade  her  questions.  Passing  her  arm  round  her,  she  said,  very 
gently : 

"  My  dear  child,  let  there  be  perfect  confidence  between  us. 
My  child,  what  has  estranged  you  of  late?  What,  but  my  love 
for  you,  and  anxiety  for  your  happiness,  could  induce  me  to 
object  to  your  receiving  Mr.  Vincent's  attentions  ? " 

"You  are  prejudiced  against  him,  and  always  were!" 

"  I  judge  the  young  man  only  from  his  conduct.  You  know 
—you  are  obliged  to  know — that  he  is  recklessly  dissipated, 
selfish,  and  immoral." 

"He  is  no  worse  than  other  young  men.  I  know  very  few 
who  are  not  quite  as  wild  as  he  is.  Besides,  he  has  promised 
to  sign  the  temperance  pledge,  if  I  will  marry  him." 

"  My  child,  you  pain  me  beyond  expression.  Does  the  de- 
pravity which  prevails  here  sanction  Vincent's  dissipation? 
Oh,  Georgia,  has  association  deprived  you  of  horror  of  vice? 
Can  you  be  satisfied  because  others  are  quite  as  degraded?  He 
does  not  mean  what  he  promises." 

"  You  are  prejudiced,"  persisted  Georgia. 

"If  I  am,  it  is  because  of  his  profligacy!  Can  you  possibly 
be  attached  to  such  a  man  ?  " 

Georgia  sobbed,  and  cried  heartily.  Her  good  sense  told  her 
that  her  mother  was  right.  Georgia  had  always  reverenced  her 
mother;  she  knew  she  was  invariably  guided  by  principle; 
and  now,  as  she  listened  to  her  earnest  entreaties,  all  her  ob- 


98  BEULAH. 

stinacy  melted  away;  throwing  herself  into  her  mother's  arms, 
she  begged  her  to  forgive  the  pain  and  anxiety  she  had  caused 
her.  Mrs.  Asbury  pressed  her  to  her  heart,  and  silently  thanked 
God  for  the  success  of  her  remonstrances.  Of  all  this  Dr.  As- 
bury knew  nothing.  When  Mr.  Vincent  called  the  following 
day,  Georgia  very  decidedly  rejected  him.  Understanding  from 
her  manner  that  she  meant  what  she  said,  he  became  violently 
enraged;  swore  with  a  solemn  oath  that  he  would  make  her 
repent  her  trifling,  took  his  hat,  and  left  the  house.  This  suf- 
ficed to  remove  any  lingering  tenderness  from  Georgia's  heart; 
and  from  that  hour,  Fred  Vincent  darkened  the  home  circle  no 
more. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

PAULINE'S  wedding  day  dawned  clear  and  bright,  meet  for  the 
happy  event  it  was  to  chronicle.  The  ceremony  was  to  be 
performed  in  church,  at  an  early  hour,  to  enable  the  newly-mar- 
ried pair  to  leave  on  the  morning  boat,  and  the  building  was 
crowded  with  the  numerous  friends  assembled  to  witness  the 
rites.  The  minister  stood  within  the  altar,  and,  after  some 
slight  delay,  Mr.  Mortimor  led  Pauline  down  the  aisle.  Dr. 
Hartwell  and  Mrs.  Lockhart  stood  near  the  altar.  Mr.  Lock- 
hart's  indisposition  prevented  his  attendance.  Satin,  blonde, 
and  diamonds  were  discarded;  Pauline  was  dressed  in  a  gray 
traveling  habit,  and  wore  a  plain,  drab  traveling  bonnet. 

It  was  a  holy,  a  touching  bridal.  The  morning  sunshine, 
stealing  through  the  lofty,  arched  windows,  fell  on  her  pure 
brow  with  dazzling  radiance,  and  lent  many  a  golden  wave  to 
the  silky,  clustering  curls.  Pauline  was  marvelously  beautiful; 
the  violet  eyes  were  dewy  with  emotion,  and  her  ripe,  coral  lips 
wreathed  with  a  smile  of  trembling  joyousness.  Only  a  few 
words  were  uttered  by  the  clergyman,  and  Pauline,  the  careless, 
high-spirited  girl,  stood  there  a  wife. 

The  carriage  was  whirled  away,  and  Beulah  walked  on  to  her 
schoolroom,  with  a  dim  foreboding  that  when  she  again  met 
the  beautiful,  warm-hearted  girl,  sunshine  might  be  banished 
from  her  face.  Days,  weeks,  and  months  passed  by.  Beulah 
had  little  leisure,  and  this  was  employed  with  the  most  rigid 
economy.  The  editor  of  the  magazine  found  that  her  articles 
were  worth  remuneration,  and  consequently  a  monthly  contribu- 
tion had  to  be  copied,  and  sent  in  at  stated  intervals.  Thus 
engaged,  spring  glided  into  summer,  and  once  more  a  June  sun 
beamed  on  the  city.  One  Saturday  she  accompanied  Clara  to  a 
jewelry  store  to  make  some  trifling  purchase,  and  saw  Eugene 
Graham  leaning  over  the  counter,  looking  at  some  sets  of  pearls 
and  diamonds.  He  did  not  perceive  her  immediately,  and  she 


BEULAH.  99 

had  an  opportunity  of  scanning  his  countenance  unobserved. 
Her  lip  trembled  as  she  noticed  the  flushed  face  and  inflamed 
eyes,  and  saw  that  the  hand  which  held  a  bracelet  was  very 
unsteady.  He  looked  up,  started,  and  greeted  her  with  evident 
embarrassment.  She  waited  until  Clara  had  completed  her 
purchase,  and  then  said,  quietly: 

"  Eugene,  are  you  going  away  without  coming  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  no ;  I  had  intended  calling  yesterday,  but  was  pre- 
vented, and  I  am  obliged  to  leave  this  afternoon.  By  the  way, 
help  me  to  select  between  these  two  pearl  sets.  I  suppose  you 
can  imagine  their  destination?" 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  alluded  to  his  marriage,  and  she 
answered,  with  an  arch  smile: 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  dare  say  I  might  guess  very  accurately.  It 
would  not  require  Yankee  ingenuity." 

She  examined  the  jewels,  and,  after  giving  an  opinion  as  to 
their  superiority,  turned  to  go,  saying: 

"  I  want  to  see  you  a  few  moments  before  you  leave  the  city. 
I  am  going  home  immediately,  and  any  time  during  the  day, 
when  you  can  call,  will  answer." 

He  looked  curious,  glanced  at  his  watch,  pondered  an  in- 
stant, and  promised  to  call  in  an  hour. 

She  bowed  and  returned  home,  with  an  almost  intolerable 
weight  on  her  heart.  She  sat  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands, 
collecting  her  thoughts,  and,  when  summoned  to  meet  Eugene, 
went  down  with  a  firm  heart,  but  trembling  frame.  He  seemed 
restless  and  ill  at  ease,  yet  curious  withal,  and,  after  some 
trifling  commonplace  remarks,  Beulah  seated  herself  on  the  sofa 
beside  him,  and  said: 

"Eugene,  why  have  you  shunned  me  so  pertinaciously  since 
your  return  from  Europe  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  shunned  you,  Beulah ;  yqu  are  mistaken.  I 
have  been  engaged,  and  therefore  could  visit  but  little." 

"  Oh,  Eugene !  be  honest — be  honest !  Say  at  once  you 
shunned  me  lest  I  should  mark  your  altered  habits  in  your  al- 
tered face.  But  I  know  it  all,  notwithstanding.  It  is  no  secret 
that  Eugene  Graham  has  more  than  once  lent  his  presence  to 
midnight  carousals  over  the  wine  cup.  Oh,  Eugene !  I  under- 
stand why  you  have  carefully  shunned  one  who  has  an  uncon- 
querable horror  of  that  degradation  in  which  you  have  fallen. 
I  am  your  friend;  your  best  and  most  disinterested  friend. 
What  do  your  fashionable  acquaintances  care  that  your  moral 
character  is  impugned,  and  your  fair  name  tarnished?  Your 
dissipation  keeps  their  brothers  and  lovers  in  countenance ;  your 
once  noble,  unsullied  nature  would  shame  their  depravity." 

She  wept  bitterly,  and  more  moved  than  he  chose  to  appear, 
Eugene  shaded  his  face  with  his  fingers.  Beulah  placed  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  and  continued,  falteringly: 


100  BEULAH. 

"  Eugene,  I  am  not  afraid  to  tell  you  the  unvarnished  truth. 
You  may  get  angry,  and  think  it  is  no  business  of  mine  to 
counsel  you,  who  are  older  and  master  of  your  own  fate;  but 
when  we  were  children  I  talked  to  you  freely,  and  why  should 
I  not  now?  True  friendship  strengthens  with  years,  and  shall 
I  hesitate  to  speak  to  you  of  what  gives  me  so  much  pain  ?  In 
a  very  few  days  you  are  to  be  married;  Eugene,  if  the  wine 
cup  is  dearer  to  you  than  your  beautiful  bride,  what  prospect 
of  happiness  have  either  of  you?  I  had  hoped  her  influence 
would  deter  you  from  it,  at  least  during  her  visit  here;  but  if 
not  then,  how  can  her  presence  avail  in  future  ?  Oh,  for  Heav- 
en's sake !  for  Antoinette's,  for  your  own,  quit  the  ranks  of  ruin 
you  are  in,  and  come  back  to  temperance  and  honor.  You  are 
bowing  down  Cornelia's  proud  head  in  sorrow.  Oh,  Eugene, 
have  mercy  on  yourself !  " 

He  tried  to  look  haughty  and,  shaking  off  her  hand,  answered 
proudly : 

"  If  I  am  the  degraded  character  you  flatteringly  pronounce 
me,  it  should  certainly  render  my  society  anything  but  agreeable 
to  your  fastidious  taste.  I  shall  not  soon  forget  your  unmerited 
insults." 

He  took  his  hat  and  turned  toward  the  door,  but  she  placed 
herself  before  it,  and,  holding  out  both  hands,  exclaimed : 

"  Do  not  let  us  part  in  anger !  I  am  an  orphan,  without  rela- 
tives or  protectors,  and  from  early  years  you  have  been  a  kind 
brother.  At  least,  let  us  part  as  friends.  I  know  that  in  future 
we  shall  be  completely  alienated,  but  your  friend  Beulah  will 
always  rejoice  to  hear  of  your  welfare  and  happiness;  and  if 
her  warning  words,  kindly  meant,  have  no  effect,  and  she  hears, 
with  keen  regret,  of  your  final  ruin,  she  at  least  will  feel  that 
she  honestly  and  anxiously  did  all  in  her  power  to  save  you. 
Good-by.  Shake  hands,  Eugene,  and  bear  with  you  to  the  altar 
my  sincere  wishes  for  your  happiness." 

She  held  out  her  hands  entreatingly,  but  he  took  no  notice  of 
the  movement,  and,  hurrying  by,  left  the  house.  For  a  mo- 
ment Beulah  bowed  her  head  and  sobbed;  then  she  brushed  the 
tears  from  her  cheek,  and  the  black  brows  met  in  a  heavy  frown. 
True,  she  had  not  expected  much  else,  yet  she  felt  bitterly 
grieved,  and  it  was  many  months  ere  she  ceased  to  remember 
the  pain  of  this  interview;  notwithstanding  the  contempt,  she 
could  not  avoid  feeling  for  his  weakness. 

The  Grahams  all  accompanied  Eugene,  and,  after  the  mar- 
riage, went  North  for  the  summer.  A  handsome  house  was 
erected  near  Mr.  Graham's  residence,  and  in  the  fall  the  young 
people  were  to  take  possession  of  it.  Mr.  Lockhart  rallied  suffi- 
ciently to  be  removed  to  his  home  "  up  the  country,"  and,  save 
Dr.  Asbury's  family,  Beulah  saw  no  one  but  Clara  and  her 
pupils.  With  July  came  the  close  of  the  session,  and  the  young 


BEULAH.  101 

teacher  was  free  again.  One  afternoon  she  put  on  her  bonnet 
and  walked  to  a  distant  section  of  the  town,  to  inquire  after 
Kate  Ellison  (one  of  her  assistant  teachers),  who,  she  hap- 
pened to  hear,  was  quite  ill.  She  found  her  even  worse  than 
she  had  expected,  and,  on  offering  her  services  to  watch  over  the 
sick  girl,  was  anxiously  requested  to  remain  with  her  during 
the  night.  About  dusk,  Beulah  left  her  charge  in  a  sound  sleep, 
and,  cautiously  opening  the  blinds,  seated  herself  on  the  win- 
dow-sill. A  buggy  drew  up  beneath  the  window — she  supposed 
it  was  the  family  physician. 

She  knew  not  what  doctor  Mrs.  Ellison  employed,  and,  as  her 
guardian  entered,  she  drew  back  with  a  start  of  surprise.  She 
had  not  seen  him  since  the  morning  of  Pauline's  marriage,  five 
months  before,  and  then  he  had  not  noticed  her.  Now  he 
stopped  suddenly,  looked  at  her  a  moment,  and  said,  as  if  much 
chagrined : 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Beulah?  " 

"Nursing  Kate,  sir.  Don't  talk  so  loud;  she  is  asleep,"  an- 
swered Beulah,  rather  frigidly. 

She  did  not  look  at  him,  but  knew  his  eyes  were  on  her  face, 
and  presently  he  said: 

"  You  are  always  where  you  ought  not  to  be.  That  girl  has 
typhus  fever,  and,  ten  to  one,  you  will  take  it.  In  the  name 
of  common  sense!  why  don't  you  let  people  take  care  of  their 
own  sick,  and  stay  at  home,  instead  of  hunting  up  cases  like  a 
professed  nurse?  I  suppose  the  first  confirmed  case  of  small- 
pox you  hear  of  you  will  hasten  to  offer  your  services.  You 
don't  intend  to  spend  the  night  here,  it  is  to  be  hoped  ?  " 

"Her  mother  has  been  sitting  up  so  constantly  that  she  is 
completely  exhausted,  and  somebody  must  assist  in  nursing 
Kate.  I  did  not  know  that  she  had  any  contagious  disease,  but 
if  she  has,  I  suppose  I  might  as  well  run  the  risk." 

"  Oh !  if  you  choose  to  risk  your  life,  it  is  your  own  affair. 
Do  not  imagine  for  an  instant  that  I  expected  my  advice  to 
weigh  an  iota  with  you." 

He  walked  off  to  Kate,  felt  her  pulse,  and,  without  waking 
her,  proceeded  to  replenish  lihe  glass  of  medicine  on  the  table. 
Beulah  was  in  no  mood  to  obtrude  herself  on  his  attention ;  she 
went  to  the  window,  and  stood  with  her  back  to  him.  She  was 
surprised  when  he  came  up  to  her,  and  said,  abruptly : 

"  To-day  I  read  an  article  in  T 's  Magazine,  called  the 

'  Inner  Life,  by  Delta.'  " 

"  Well!  what  do  I  care  for  the  article  in  T— — 's  Magazine?  " 
These  words  were  jerked  out,  as  it  were,  with  something  like  a 
sneer. 

"You  care  more  than  you  will  ever  be  brought  to  confess. 
Have  you  read  this  precious  f  Inner  Life '  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes!" 


102  BEULAH. 

This  "Inner  Life,"  which  she  had  written  for  the  last  num- 
ber of  the  magazine,  was  an  allegory,  in  which  she  boldly  at- 
tempted to  disprove  the  truth  of  the  fact  Tennyson  had  so 
inimitably  embodied  in  "  The  Palace  of  Art,"  namely,  that  love 
of  beauty,  and  intellectual  culture,  cannot  satisfy  the  God- 
given  aspirations  of  the  soul.  Her  guardian  fully  compre- 
hended the  dawning,  and  as  yet  unacknowledged  dread  which 
prompted  this  article,  and,  hastily  laying  his  hand  on  her  shoul- 
der, he  said: 

"  Ah,  proud  girl !  you  are  struggling  desperately  with  your 
heart.  You,  too,  have  reared  a  ,'  palace '  on  dreary,  almost  in- 
accessible crags;  and  because  already  you  begin  to  weary  of 
your  isolation,  you  would  fain  hurl  invectives  at  Tennyson, 
who  explores  your  mansion,  '  so  royal,  rich,  and  wide,'  and  dis- 
covers the  grim  specters  that  dwell  with  you!  You  were  very 
miserable  when  you  wrote  that  sketch;  you  are  not  equal  to 
what  you  have  undertaken.  Child,  this  year  of  trial  and  lone- 
liness has  left  its  impress  on  your  face.  Are  you  not  yet  will- 
ing to  give  up  the  struggle  ? " 

The  moon  had  risen,  and  as  its  light  shone  on  her  counte- 
nance, he  saw  a  fierce  blaze  in  her  eyes  he  had  never  noticed 
there  before.  She  shook  off  his  light  touch,  and  answered: 

"  No !     I  will  never  give  up !  " 

He  smiled,  and  left  her. 

She  remained  with  her  sick  friend  until  sunrise  the  next 
morning,  and  ere  she  left  the  house  was  rewarded  by  the  assur- 
ance that  she  was  better.  In  a  few  days  Kate  was  decidedly 
convalescent.  Beulah  did  not  take  typhus  fever. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ONE  afternoon  in  October  the  indisposition  of  one  of  her 
music  pupils  released  Beulah  earlier  than  usual,  and  she  de- 
termined to  seize  this  opportunity  and  visit  the  asylum.  Of 
the  walk  across  the  common  she  never  wearied. 

As  she  drew  near  the  asylum  gate,  memory  began  to  pass  its 
fingers  over  her  heart;  but  here,  too,. sounds  of  gladness  met 
her.  The  orphans  were  assembled  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the 
building,  chatting  as  cheerfully  as  though  they  were  all  mem- 
bers of  one  family.  The  little  ones  trundled  hoops,  and  chased 
each  other  up  and  down  the  graveled  walks;  some  of  the  boys 
tossed  their  balls,  and  a  few  of  the  larger  girls  were  tying  up 
chrysanthemums  to  slender  stakes.  To  many  of  them  Beulah 
was  well  known.  The  children  told  her  that  their  matron  had 
been  sick  and  was  not  yet  quite  well,  and,  needing  no  pilot, 
Beulah  went  through  the  house  in  search  of  her.  She  found 


BEULAH.  103 

her  at  last  in  the  storeroom,  giving  out  materials  for  the  even- 
ing meal.  She  was  pale  and  thin,  and  her  sharpened  features 
wore  a  depressed,  weary  expression ;  but,  turning  round,  she  per- 
ceived Beulah,  and  a  glad  smile  hroke  instantly  over  her  coun- 
tenance as  she  clasped  the  girl's  hand  in  both  hers. 

"  Dear  child,  I  have  looked  for  a  long  time.  I  did  not  think 
you  would  wait  so  many  weeks." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  had  been  sick  until  I  came  and  heard 
the  children  speak  of  it.  You  should  have  sent  me  word.  I 
see  you  have  not  entirely  recovered." 

"  No,  I  am  quite  feeble  yet ;  but  in  time  I  hope  I  shall  be 
well  again.  Ah,  Beulah,  I  have  wanted  to  see  you  so  much!  so 
much!  Child,  it  seems  to  me  I  shall  never  get  used  to  being 
separated  from  you." 

"I  love  to  come  here  occasionally;  it  does  me  good;  but  not 
too  often;  that  would  be  painful,  you  know." 

Beulah  spoke  in  a  subdued  voice,  while  memory  painted  the 
evening  when  Eugene  had  sought  her  in  this  apartment,  and 
wiped  away  her  tears  for  Lilly's  absence. 

"  Beulah,  they  tell  me  Eugene  is  married." 

"  Yes,  he  was  married  nearly  five  months  ago." 

"  Did  you  see  his  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  she  is  a  very  pretty  woman.  I  may  say  a  beautiful 
woman;  but  she  does  not  suit  him."  • 

"  Oh,  heiresses  are  always  beautiful  and  charming  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world !  Beulah,  do  you  know  that  I  watched  for 
Eugene  for  days  and  weeks  and  months,  after  his  return  from 
Europe  ?  I  wanted  to  see  him — oh,  so  much !  I  loved  you  both 
as  though  you  were  my  own  children.  I  was  so  proud  of  that 
boy !  I  had  raised  him  from  a  crawling  infant,  and  never 
dreamed  that  he  would  forget  me.  But  he  did  not  come.  I 
have  not  seen  him  since  he  left,  six  years  ago,  for  Germany. 
Oh,  the  boy  has  pained  me — pained  me !  I  loved  him  so  much !  " 

Beulah's  brow  clouded  heavily,  as  she  said : 

"  It  is  better  so — better  that  you  should  not  see  him.  He  is 
not  what  he  was  when  he  quitted  us." 

"  It  is  true,  then,  that  he  drinks — that  he  is  wild  and  dis- 
sipated? I  heard  it  once,  but  would  not  believe  it." 

"Yes,  he  drinks — not  to  stupid  intoxication,  but  too  freely 
for  his  health  and  character." 

"  God  help  the  boy !  I  have  prayed  for  him  for  years,  and 
I  shall  pray  for  him  still,  though  he  has  forgotten  me." 

She  sobbed  and  covered  her  face  with  her  apron. 

"  I  shall  leave  here  very  soon,"  said  Mrs.  Williams. 

"  Leave  the  asylum !  for  what  ?  " 

"  I  am  getting  old,  child,  and  my  health  is  none  of  the  best. 
The  duties  are  very  heavy  here,  and  I  am  not  willing  to  oc- 
cupy the  position  unless  I  could  discharge  all  the  duties  faith- 


104  BEULAH. 

fully.  I  have  sent  in  my  resignation  to  the  managers,  and 
as  soon  as  they  succeed  in  getting  another  matron,  I  shall 
leave  the  asylum." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  have  means  enough  to  live  plainly  the  remainder  of  my 
life.  I  intend  to  rent  or  buy  a  small  house." 

"  Do  you  intend  to  live  alone  ?  " 

"Yes,  child;  except  a  servant,  I  suppose  I  shall  be  quite 
alone.  But  you  will  come  to  see  me  often,  and  perhaps  Eugene 
•will  remember  me  some  day,  when  he  is  in  trouble." 

"  No,  I  shall  not  come  to  see  you  at  all !  I  mean  to  come 
and  live  with  you — that  is,  if  I  may  ? "  cried  Beulah. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  child,  how  glad  I  shall  be ! " 

Beulah  gently  put  back  the  gray  locks  that  had  fallen  from 
the  border  of  her  cap,  and  said,  hopefully: 

"  I  am  sick  of  boarding — sick  of  town !  Let  us  get  a  nice 
little  house,  where  I  can  walk  in  and  out  to  my  school.  Have 
you  selected  any  particular  place  ? " 

"No.  I  have  looked  at  two  or  three,  but  none  suited  me 
exactly.  Now  you  can  help  me.  Will  you  come  as  soon  as  I 
can  be  released  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  just  as  soon  as  you  are  ready  for  me ;  and  I  think  I 
know  a  house  for  rent  which  will  just  suit  us.  Now,  I  want 
it  understood  that  I  am  to  pay  the  rent." 

"  Oh,  Beulah !  you  are  not  in  earnest  ? " 

"Yes,  I  am;  so  say  no  more  about  it.  I  will  come  on  no 
other  condition.  I  will  see  the  owner  of  the  house,  ascertain 
what  I  can  obtain  it  for,  and  send  you  word.  Then  you  can 
look  at  it,  and  decide." 

"I  am  quite  willing  to  trust  it  to  you,  child;  only  I  can't 
bear  the  thought  of  your  paying  the  rent  for  it." 

"  Well,  be  sure  you  get  a  good  servant,  and  now  I  must  go." 

She  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl  with  unwonted  haste,  and 
ran  down  the  steps.  In  her  frequent  walks,  she  had  noticed 
two  cottages  in  course  of  erection,  not  very  far  from  the  pine 
grove  in  front  of  the  asylum.  The  lots  were  small,  and  be- 
longed to  Dr.  Asbury,  who  said  he  would  build  a  couple  of 
cottages  for  poor  families  to  rent  at  cheap  rates.  As  Beulah 
approached  the  houses,  she  saw  the  doctor's  buggy  standing 
near  the  door,  and,  thinking  it  a  good  omen,  quickened  her 
steps.  Each  building  contained  only  three  rooms  and  a  hall, 
with  a  gallery,  or  rather  portico  in  front.  They  were  genuine 
cottages  orne,  built  after  Downing-'s  plans,  and  presented  a 
tasteful,  inviting  appearance.  The  windows  were  arched,  and 
the  woodwork  elaborately  carved.  Beulah  pushed  open  the 
freshly-painted  gate,  ran  up  the  steps  and  into  the  hall.  The 
carpenters  were  still  at  work  in  the  kitchen,  and,  as  she  con- 
jectured, here  she  found  her  friend,  giving  some  final  direc- 


BEULAH.  105 

tions.  She  looked  round  the  snug  little  kitchen,  and,  walking 
up  to  Dr.  Asbury,  who  stood  with  his  back  to  the  door,  she 
shook  his  hand,  with  a  cheerful  salutation. 

"  Halloo,  Beulah !  where  did  you  drop  from  ?  glad  to  see 
you.  Glad  to  see  you.  How  came  you  prying  into  my  new 
houses?  Answer  me  that!  Did  you  see  my  spouse  as  you 
came  through  the  hall?" 

"  No,  I  will  go  back  and  hunt  for  her " 

"You  need  not;  there  she  comes  down  the  steps  of  the 
house.  She  would  insist  on  seeing  about  some  shelves  for  this 
precious  kitchen;  thinks  I  am  bound  to  put  pantries,  and 
closets,  and  shelves  all  over  the  house  for  my  future  tenants. 
I  suppose  before  the  first  poor  family  takes  possession,  I  shall  be 
expected  to  fill  the  closet  with  table-linen  and  cutlery,  and  the 
larder  with  sugar,  flour,  and  wax  candles.  Look  here,  Mrs. 
Asbury,  how  many  more  shelves  is  this  kitchen  to  have  ? " 

"  It  is  well  she  has  a  conscience,  sir,  since  nature  denied 
you  one,"  answered  Beulah,  whom  Mrs.  Asbury  received  very 
affectionately. 

"  Conscience !  Bless  my  soul !  she  has  none,  as  regards  my 
unlucky  purse.  Hey,  Beulah,  no  whispering  there!  You  look 
as  wise  as  an  owl.  What  am  I  to  do  next?  Paper  the  walls, 
and  fresco  the  ceilings?  Out  with  it." 

"I  want  to  ask,  sir,  how  much  rent  your  conscience  will 
allow  you  to  demand  for  this  pigeon-box  of  a  house  ? " 

"Well,  I  had  an  idea  of  asking  two  hundred  dollars  for  it. 
Cheap  enough  at  that.  You  may  have  it.  for  two  hundred," 
said  he,  with  a  good-humored  nod  toward  Beulah. 

"Very  well,  I  will  take  it  at  that,  provided  Mrs.  Williams 
likes  it  as  well  as  I  do.  In  a  day  or  two  I  will  determine." 

"  In  the  name  of  common  sense,  Beulah,  what  freak  is  this  ? " 
said  the  doctor,  looking  at  her  with  astonishment. 

"  I  am  going  to  live  with  the  matron  of  the  asylum,  whom 
you  know  very  well.  I  think  this  house  will  suit  us  exactly, 
and  the  rent  suits  my  purse  far  better  than  a  larger  building 
would.  I  am  tired  of  boarding.  I  want  a  little  home  of  my 
own,  where,  when  the  labors  of  school  are  over,  I  can  feel  at 
ease.  The  walk  twice  a  day  will  benefit  me." 

"What  does  Hartwell  think  of  this  project?" 

"I  have  not  consulted  him." 

"  The  plain  English  of  which  is  that,  whether  he  approves 
or  condemns,  you  are  determined  to  carry  out  this  new  plan? 
Take  care,  Beulah ;  remember  the  old  adage  about  '  cutting  off 
your  nose  to  spite  your  face.' " 

"  Rather  mal  apropos,  Dr.  Asbury,"  said  she,  indifferently. 

"  I  am  an  old  man,  Beulah,  and  know  something  of  life  and 
the  world." 

"Nay,  George:  why  dissuade  her  from  this  plan?     If  she 


106  BEULAH. 

prefers  this  quiet  little  home,  to  the  confinement  and  bustle 
of  a  boarding-house,  if  she  thinks  she  would  be  happier  here 
•with  Mrs.  Williams,  than  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  why  should 
not  she  come?  Suffer  her  to  judge  for  herself.  I  am  disposed 
to  applaud  her  choice,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Asbury. 

"  Well,  well ;  if  you  soon  weary  of  this  freak  you  can  easily 
give  up  the  house,  that  is  all.  Now,  Beulah,  if  you  determine 
to  take  it,  rest  assured  I  will  gladly  make  any  additions  or 
alterations  you  may  suggest.  Come,  it  is  too  late  now  to  go 
over  the  rooms  again;  to-morrow  will  do  as  well.  Beulah,  are 
you  going  to  play  cook,  too  ? " 

"No,  indeed!  Mrs.  Williams  will  find  us  a  servant.  Good- 
by.  I  will  decide  about  the  house  as  soon  as  possible." 

The  following  day  she  dispatched  a  note  to  the  matron,  with 
information  concerning  the  house;  and  one  cold,  clear  day  in 
November  Beulah  was  notified  that  Mrs.  Williams  was  com- 
fortably settled  in  the  new  home.  She  went  to  school  as  usual, 
and,  when  the  recitations  were  ended,  started  out  with  a  glad 
heart  and  springing  step.  In  half  an  hour  she  reached  the 
little  white  gate,  and  found  Mrs.  Williams  waiting  there  to 
welcome  her.  Everything  was  new  and  neat;  the  tastefully- 
selected  carpets  were  not  tapestry,  but  cheap  ingrain;  the 
snowy  curtains  were  of  plain  dimity,  with  rose-colored  bor- 
ders, and  the  tea-table  held,  instead  of  costly  Sevres,  simple 
white  china,  with  a  band  of  gilt.  A  bright  fire  crackled  and 
glowed  in  the  chimney,  and,  as  Beulah  stood  on  the  hearth 
and  glanced  round  the  comfortable  little  room,  which  was  to 
be  both  parlor  and  dining-room,  she  felt  her  heart  thrill  with 
delight,  and  exclaimed: 

"  This  is  home !  at  last  I  feel  that  I  have  a  home  of  my  own. 
Not  the  Kothschilds  are  so  happy  as  I ! " 

The  evening  passed  quickly,  and  when  she  retired  to  her 
own  room  she  was  surprised  to  find  a  handsome  rosewood 
bookcase  and  desk  occupying  one  corner.  She  opened  the  glass 
doors  and  saw  her  books  carefully  arranged  on  the  shelves. 
Could  her  guardian  have  sent  it?  No,  since  her  refusal  of 
the  watch,  she  felt  sure  he  would  not  have  offered  it.  A  small 
note  lay  on  the  shelf,  and,  recognizing  the  delicate  handwrit- 
ing, she  read  the  lines,  containing  these  words: 

"  BEULAH  :  Accept  the  accompanying  case  and  desk,  as  a  slight 
testimony  of  the  affection  of  your  sincere  friend, 

"  ALICE  ASBURY." 

Tears  sprang  into  her  eyes  as  she  opened  the  desk  and  dis- 
covered an  elegant  pen  and  pencil,  and  every  convenience  con- 
nected with  writing.  Turning  away,  she  saw  beside  the  fire 
a  large,  deep  easy-chair,  cushioned  with  purple  morocco,  and 


BEULAH.  107 

knew  it  was  exactly  like  one  she  had  often  seen  in  Dr.  Asbury's 
library.  On  the  back  was  pinned  a  narrow  slip  of  paper,  and 
she  read,  in  the  doctor's  scrawling,  quaint  writing: 

"  Child,  don't  be  too  proud  to  use  it." 

She  was  not;  throwing  herself  into  the  luxurious  chair,  she 
broke  the  seal  of  a  letter  received  that  day  from  Pauline  Mor- 
timer. Once  before,  soon  after  her  marriage,  a  few  lines  of 
gay  greeting  had  come,  and  then  many  months  had  elapsed. 
As  she  unfolded  the  sheet,  she  saw,  with  sorrow,  that  in  several 
places  it  was  blotted  with  tears;  and  the  contents,  written  in 
a  paroxysm  of  passion,  disclosed  a  state  of  wretchedness  which 
Beulah  little  suspected.  Pauline's  impulsive,  fitful  nature  was 
clearly  indexed  in  the  letter,  and,  after  a  brief  apology  for 
her  long  silence,  she  wrote  as  follows : 

"  Oh,  Beulah,  I  am  so  miserable ;  so  very,  very  wretched !  Beulah, 
Ernest  does  not  love  me!  You  will  scarcely  believe  me.  Oh,  I 
hardly  know  how  to  believe  it  myself!  Uncle  Guy  was  right;  I  do 
not  suit  Ernest;  but  I  loved  him  so  very,  very  dearly;  and  thought 
him  so  devoted  to  me.  Fool  that  I  was !  my  eyes  are  opened  at  last. 
Beulah,  it  nearly  drives  me  wild,  to  think  that  I  am  bound  to  him 
for  life,  an/  unloved  wife.  Not  a  year  has  passed  since  our  marriage, 
yet  already  he  has  tired  of  my  '  pretty  face.'  Oh,  Beulah,  if  I 
could  only  come  to  you,  and  put  my  arms  around  your  neck,  and 
lay  my  poor,  weary  head  down  on  your  shoulder,  then  I  could  tell 
you  all " 

Here  several  sentences  were  illegible  from  tears,  and  she 
could  only  read  what  followed. 

"  Since  yesterday  morning,  Ernest  has  not  spoken  to  me.  While 
I  write,  he  is  sitting  in  the  next  room,  reading,  as  cold,  indifferent 
and  calm  as  if  I  were  not  perfectly  wretched.  He  is  tyrannical ;  and 
because  I  do  not  humor  all  his  whims,  and  have  some  will  of  my 
own,  he  treats  me  with  insulting  indifference.  He  is  angry  now, 
because  I  resented  some  of  his  father's  impertinent  speeches  about 
my  dresa.  This  is  not  the  first,  nor  the  second  time  that  we  have 
quarreled.  He  has  an  old  maid  sister,  who  is  forever  meddling  about 
my  affairs,  and  sneering  at  my  domestic  arrangements;  and  because 
I  finally  told  her  I  believed  I  was  mistress  of  my  own  house,  Ernest 
has  never  forgiven  me.  Ellen  (the  sister  I  loved,  and  went  to  school 
with)  has  married,  and  moved  to  a  distant  part  of  the  State.  The 
other  members  of  his  family  are  bigoted,  proud  and  parsimonious, 
and  they  have  chiefly  made  the  breach  between  us.  Oh,  Beulah, 
If  I  could  only  undo  the  past,  and  be  Pauline  Chilton  once  more! 
Oh,  if  I  could  be  free  and  happy  again!  But  there  is  no  prospect  of 
that.  I  am  his  wife,  as  he  told  me  yesterday,  and  suppose  I  must 
drag  out  a  miserable  existence.  Yet  I  will  not  be  trampled  on  by 
his  family!  His  sister  spends  much  of  her  time  with  us;  reads 
to  Ernest;  talks  to  him  about  things  that  she  glories  in  telling  me 
I  don't  understand  the  first  word  of.  Beulah,  I  was  anxious  to 
study,  and  make  myself  a  companion  for  him,  but,  try  as  I  may, 


108  BEULAH. 

Lucy  contrives  always  to  fret  and  thwart  me.  Two  days  ago  she 
nearly  drove  me  beside  myself  with  her  sneers  and  allusions  to  my 
great  mental  inferiority  to  Ernest  (as  if  I  were  not  often  enough 
painfully  reminded  of  the  fact,  without  any  of  her  assistance ! )  I 
know  I  should  not  have  said  it,  but  I  was  too  angry  to  think  of 
propriety,  and  told  her  that  her  presence  in .  my  home  was  very 
disagreeable.  Oh,  if  you  could  have  seen  her  insulting  smile,  as 
she  answered,  that  her  '  noble  brother  needed  her,  and  she  felt  it 
a  duty  to  remain  with  him.'  Beulah,  I  love  my  husband;  I  would 
do  anything  on  earth  to  make  him  happy,  if  we  were  left  to  our- 
selves, but  as  to  submitting  to  Lucy's  arrogance  and  sneers,  I  will 
not!  Ernest  requires  me  to  apologize  to  his  father  and  sister,  and 
I  told  him  I  would  not!  I  would  die  first!  If  it  were  only  Ernest, 
I  could  bring  myself  to  'obey'  him,  for  I  love  him  very  devotedly; 
but  as  to  being  dictated  to  by  all  his  relatives,  I  never  will!  Beulah, 
burn  this  blurred  letter,  don't  let  anybody  know  how  drearily  I  am 
situated.  I  am  too  proud  to  have  my  misery  published.  To  know 
that  people  pitied  me,  would  kill  me.  I  never  can  be  happy  again, 
but  perhaps  you  can  help  me  to  be  less  miserable.  Do  write  to  me! 
Oh,  how  I  wish  you  could  come  to  me!  I  charge  you,  Beulah,  don't 
let  Uncle  Guy  know  that  I  am  not  happy.  Good-by.  Oh,  if  ever 
you  marry,  be  sure  your  husband  has  no  old  maid  sisters,  and  no 
officious  kin!  I  am  crying  so,  that  I  can  barely  see  the  lines.  Good- 
by,  dear  Beulah,  PAULINE." 

Beulah  leaned  forward  and  dropped  the  letter  into  the  glow- 
ing mass  of  coals.  It  shriveled,  blazed,  and  vanished,  and, 
with  a  heavy  sigh,  she  sat  pondering  the  painful  contents. 
"  So  much  for  a  union  of  uncongenial  natures,"  thought  Beu- 
lah, as  she  prepared  to  answer  the  unlucky  letter.  As  guard- 
edly as  possible,  she  alluded  to  Mr.  Mortimor  and  his  family, 
and  urged  Pauline  to  talk  to  her  husband  gently,  but  firmly, 
and  assure  him  that  the  continued  interference  of  his  family 
was  unendurable.  If  her  remonstrances  proved  futile,  to  do 
what  she  considered  due  to  herself  as  mistress  of  her  own 
establishment,  and  try  not  to  notice  the  annoyance  of  others. 
Beulah  felt  and  acknowledged  her  inability  to  advise  the  young 
wife  in  tne  difficult  position  in  which  she  was  placed,  and 
closed  by  assuring  her  that  only  her  own  good  sense,  guided  by 
sincere  love  for  her  husband,  could  rightly  direct  her  course. 
She  was  warmly  attached  to  Pauline,  and  it  was  with  a 
troubled  heart  that  she  addressed  her  reply. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  Grahams  were  all  at  home  again,  and  Eugene  and  his 
bride  had  been  for  several  weeks  fairly  settled  in  their  ele- 
gant new  house.  Beulah  had  seen  none  of  the  family  since 
their  return,  for  her  time  was  nearly  all  occupied,  and  as  soon 


BEULAH.  109 

as  released  from  school,  she  gladly  hurried  out  to  her  little 
home.  One  evening,  as  she  left  the  academy,  Mr.  Graham's 
spirited  horses  dashed  up  to  the  gate,  and  the  coachman  handed 
her  a  note.  It  was  from  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Miss  BENTON  :  Cornelia  is  quite  indisposed,  and  begs  that  you 
•will  call  and  see  her  this  afternoon.  As  it  threatens  rain,  I  send 
the  carriage.  S.  GRAHAM." 

Mrs.  Graham  met  her  at  the  door,  and  greeted  her  more 
cordially  than  she  had  on  any  previous  occasion.  She  looked 
anxious  and  weary,  and  said,  as  she  led  the  way  to  her 
daughter's  apartment: 

"  We  are  quite  uneasy  ahout  Cornelia ;  you  will  find  her 
sadly  altered."  She  ushered  Beulah  into  the  room,  then  im- 
mediately withdrew. 

Cornelia  was  propped  up  by  cushions  and  pillows  in  her 
easy-chair;  her  head  was  thrown  back,  and  her  gaze  appeared 
to  be  riveted  on  a  painting  which  hung  opposite.  Beulah  stood 
beside  her  a  moment,  unnoticed,  and  saw  with  painful  surprise 
the  ravages  which  disease  had  made  in  the  once  beautiful  face 
and  queenly  form.  Her  wasted  hands,  grasping  the  arms  of 
the  chair,  might  have  served  as  a  model  for  a  statue  of  death, 
so  thin,  pale,  almost  transparent.  Beulah  softly  touched  one 
of  them,  and  said: 

"  Cornelia,  you  wished  to  see  me." 

The  invalid  looked  at  her  intently,  and  smiled. 

"I  thought  you  would  come.  Ah,  Beulah,  do  you  recognize 
this  wreck  as  your  former  friend  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  prepared  to  find  you  so  changed.  Do  you  suffer 
much  ? " 

"  Suffer !  Yes,  almost  all  the  time ;  but  it  is  not  the  bodily 
torture  that  troubles  me  so  much — I  could  bear  that  in  silence. 
It  is  my  mind, i Beulah;  my  mind." 

She  pointed  to  a  chair;  Beulah  drew  it  near  her,  and  Cor- 
nelia continued: 

"  I  thought  I  should  die  suddenly,  but  it  is  to  be  otherwise. 
The  torture  is  slow,  lingering.  Have  you  seen  Eugene  re- 
cently?" 

"Not  since  his  marriage." 

A  bitter  laugh  escaped  Cornelia's  lips,  as  she  writhed  an 
instant,  and  then  said: 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  be.  I  shall  not  live  to  see  the  end, 
but  you  will.  Ha !  Beulah,  already  he  has  discovered  his  mis- 
take. I  did  not  expect  it  so  soon;  I  fancied  Antoinette  had 
more  policy.  She  has  dropped  the  mask.  He  sees  himself 
wedded  to  a  woman  completely  devoid  of  truth;  he  knows  her 
now  as  she  is:  as  I  tried  to  show  him  she  was,  before  it  was 


110  BEULAH. 

too  late;  and,  Beulah,  as  I  expected,  he  has  grown  reckless — 
desperate.  Ah,  if  you  could  have  witnessed  a  scene  at  the 
St.  Nicholas,  in  New  York,  not  long  since,  you  would  have 
wept  over  him.  He  found  his  bride  heartless;  saw  that  she 
preferred  the  society  of  other  gentlemen  to  his;  and  one  even- 
ing, on  coming  home  to  the  hotel,  found  she  had  gone  to  the 
opera  with  a  party  she  knew  he  detested.  Beulah,  it  sickens 
me  when  I  think  of  his  fierce  railings,  and  anguish,  and  scorn. 
He  drank  in  mad  defiance,  and,  when  she  returned,  greeted 
her  with  imprecations  that  would  have  bowed  any  other  woman, 
in  utter  humiliation,  into  the  dust.  She  laughed  derisively, 
told  him  he  might  amuse  himself  as  he  chose,  she  would  not 
heed  his  wishes  as  regarded  her  own  movements." 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  groaned. 

"  What  induced  her  to  marry  him  ? "  asked  Beulah. 

"  Only  her  false  heart  knows.  But  I  have  always  believed 
she  was  chiefly  influenced  by  a  desire  to  escape  from  the  strict 
discipline  to  which  her  father  subjected  her  at  home.  Her 
mother  was  anything  but  a  model  of  propriety;  and  her 
mother's  sister,  who  was  Dr.  Hartwell's  wife,  was  not  more 
exemplary.  My  uncle  endeavored  to  curb  Antoinette's  dan- 
gerous fondness  for  display  and  dissipation,  and  she  fancied 
that,  as  Eugene's  wife,  she  could  freely  plunge  into  gayeties 
which  were  sparingly  allowed  her  at  home." 

Her  breathing  was  quick  and  difficult,  and  two  crimson  spots 
burned  on  her  sallow  cheeks.  Her  whole  face  told  of  years 
of  bitterness,  and  a  grim  defiance  of  death,  which  sent  a  shud- 
der through  Beulah  as  she  listened  to  the  panting  breath. 
Cornelia  saturated  her  handkerchief  with  some  delicate  per- 
fume from  a  crystal  vase,  and,  passing  it  over  her  face, 
continued : 

"  They  tell  me  it  is  time  I  should  be  confirmed ;  talk 
vaguely  of  seeing  preachers,  and  taking  the  sacrament,  and 
preparing  myself,  as  if  I  could  be  frightened  into  religion  and 
the  church.  My  mother  seems  just  to  have  waked  up  to  a 
knowledge  of  my  spiritual  condition,  as  she  calls  it.  Ah,  Beu- 
lah, it  is  all  dark  before  me;  black,  black  as  midnight!  I  am 
going  down  to  an  eternal  night." 

"  Cornelia,  do  you  fear  death  ?  " 

"  No,  not  exactly.  I  am  glad  I  am  so  soon  to  be  rid  of  my 
vexed,  joyless  life;  but  you  know  it  is  all  a  dark  mystery;  and 
sometimes,  when  I  recollect  how  I  felt  in  my  childhood,  I 
shrink  from  the  final  dissolution.  I  have  no  hopes  of  a  bliss- 
ful future,  such  as  cheer  some  people  in  their  last  hour.  Of % 
what  comes  after  death,  I  know  and  believe  nothing.  Occa- 
sionally I  shiver  at  the  thought  of  annihilation;  but  if,  after 
all,  Revelation  is  true,  I  have  something  worse  than  annihila- 
tion to  fear.  You  know  the  history  of  my  skepticism;  it  is 


BEULAH.  HI 

the  history  of  hundreds  in  this  age.  The  inconsistencies  of 
professing  Christians  disgusted  me.  I  have  never  known  but 
one  exception.  Mrs.  Asbury  is  a  consistent  Christian.  I 
have  watched  her,  under  various  circumstances ;  I  have  tempted 
her,  in  divers  ways,  to  test  her;  and  to-day,  skeptic  as  I  am, 
I  admire  and  revere  that  noble  woman.  If  all  Christians  set 
an  example  as  pure  and  bright  as  hers,  there  were  less  infi- 
delity and  atheism  in  the  land.  Beulah,  a  year  ago  we  talked 
of  these  things;  I  was  then,  as  now,  hopeless  of  creeds,  of 
truth,  but  you  were  sure  you  would  find  the  truth.  Where  is 
your  truth  ?  Show  it  to  me  ? " 

She  twined  her  thin,  hot  fingers  round  Beulah's  cold  hand, 
and  spoke  in  a  weary  tone.  The  orphan's  features  twitched 
an  instant,  and  the  old  troubled  look  came  back,  as  she  said: 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you,  Cornelia.  'It  must  be  terrible, 
indeed,  to  stand  on  the  brink  of  the  grave  and  have  no  belief 
in  anything.  I  would  give  more  than  I  possess  to  be  able  to 
assist  you,  but  I  cannot;  I  have  no  truth  to  offer  you;  I  have 
yet  discovered  nothing  for  myself." 

"  You  will  not ;  you  will  not.  It  is  all  mocking  mystery, 
and,  no  more  than  the  aggregated  generations  of  the  past,  can 
you  find  any  solution." 

"  Philosophy  promises  one,"  replied  Beulah,  resolutely. 

"  Philosophy  ?  take  care ;  that  hidden  rock  stranded  me.  I 
am  older  than  you;  I  am  a  sample  of  the  efficacy  of  such 
systems.  Oh,  the  so-called  philosophers  of  this  century  and 
the  last  are  crowned  heads  of  humbugry!  Have  done  with 
them,  Beulah,  or  you  will  be  miserably  duped." 

"Have  you  lost  faith  in  Emerson  and  Theodore  Parker?" 

"  Yes,  lost  faith  in  everything  and  everybody  except  Mrs. 
Asbury.  But  no  more  of  this,  Beulah — so  long  as  you  have 
found  nothing  to  rest  upon.  I  had  hoped  much  from  your 
earnest  search,  but,  since  it  has  been  futile,  let  the  subject 
drop.  Give  me  that  glass  of  medicine.  Dr.  Hartwell  was 
here,  just  before  you  came;  he  is  morose  and  haggard;  what 
ails  him? " 

"I  really  don't  know.  I  have  not  seen  him  for  several 
months — not  since  August,  I  believe." 

"  Beulah,  I  was  in  pain  last  night,  and  could  not  sleep,  and 
for  hours  I  seemed  to  hear  the  words  of  that  horrible  vision: 
'  And  he  saw  how  world  after  world  shook  off  its  glimmering 
souls  upon  the  sea  of  Death,  as  a  water  bubble  scatters  swim- 
ming lights  on  the  waves.'  Oh!  my  mind  is  clouded  and  my 
heart  hopeless;  it  is  dismal  to  stand  alone  as  I  do,  and  con- 
front the  final  issue,  without  belief  in  anything." 

Beulah  was  deeply  moved,  and  answered,  with  a  faltering 
voice  and  trembling  lip: 

"  I  wish  I  could  comfort  and  cheer  you,  but  I  cannot — I 


112  BEULAH. 

cannot !  If  the  hand  of  disease  placed  me  to-day  on  the  brink 
beside  you,  I  should  be  as  hopeless  as  you.  Oh,  Cornelia!  it 
makes  my  heart  ache  to  look  at  you  now,  and  I  would  give  my 
life  to  be  able  to  stand  where  you  do,  with  a  calm  trust  in  the 
God  of  Israel;  but " 

"  Then,  be  warned  by  my  example.  In  many  respects  we 
resemble  each  other;  our  pursuits  have  been  similar.  Beulah, 
do  not  follow  me  to  the  end !  Take  my  word  for  it,  all  is  dark 
and  grim." 

She  sank  back,  too  much  exhausted  to  continue  the  conver- 
sation, and  Beulah  rose  to  go. 

"  Can't  you  stay  with  me  ? "  said  the  feeble  girl. 

"  No  my  companionship  is  no  benefit  to  you  now.  If  I  could 
help  you,  I  would  not  leave  you  at  all." 

She  pressed  her  lips  to  the  forehead,  furrowed  by  suffering, 
and  hastened  away. 


CHAPTER  XXHI. 

MR.  GRAHAM  sat  by  his  daughter's  bed,  with  his  elbow  rest- 
ing on  her  pillow,  and  his  head  drooped  on  his  hand.  It  was 
noon,  and  sunshine  sparkled  out  of  doors,  but  here  the  heavy 
curtains  swept  across  the  windows,  and  cast  a  lurid  light  over 
the  sick  room.  The  restless  sufferer  threw  up  her  arms  over 
the  pillow,  and  turning  toward  him,  said  in  a  voice  sharpened 
by  disease : 

"  Has  mother  gone  ?     I  want  to  say  something  to  you." 

"  We  are  alone,  my  child ;  speak  to  me  freely." 

"  There  are  a  few  things  I  wish  to  have  arranged,  and  my 
time  is  short.  You  have  never  refused  me  any  gratification 
I  desired,  and  I  know  you  will  grant  my  last  request.  Father, 
I  have  always  been  considered  an  heiress,  and  I  want  to  know 
how  much  I  would  be  entitled  to  if  I  should  live?  Of  course, 
Eugene  has  an  equal  share ;  how  much  is  it  ? " 

"  About  eighty  thousand  dollars  apiece,  I  suppose,  leaving 
as  much  for  your  mother.  Why  do  you  ask,  my  daughter? " 

"Eighty  thousand  dollars.  How  much  good  might  be  done 
with  it,  if  judiciously  distributed  and  invested?  Father,  I 
shall  not  live  to  squander  it  in  frivolous  amusements,  or  super- 
fluous luxuries.  Are  you  willing  that  I  should  dispose  of  a 
portion  of  it  before  my  death  ? " 

"  Yes,  Cornelia,  if  it  will  afford  you  any  gratification.  My 
poor  afflicted  child:  how  can  I  deny  you  anything  you  choose 
to  ask!" 

She  put  up  one  arm  around  his  neck,  and,  drawing  his  head 
close  to  her,  said,  earnestly: 

"I  only  wish  to  use  a  part  of  it.    Father,  I  want  to  leave 


BEULAH.  113 

Beulah  about  five  thousand  dollars.  That  sum  will  enable  her 
to  live  more  comfortably,  and  labor  less,  and  I  should  like  to 
feel,  before  I  die,  that  I  had  been  the  means  of  assisting  her. 
Will  you  see  that  it  is  arranged  so  that  she  will  certainly  re- 
ceive it,  no  matter  what  happens  ? " 

"Yes,  I  promise  you  that  she  shall  have  five  thousand  dol- 
lars, to  dispose  of  as  she  thinks  proper." 

"  Then  I  want  five  thousand  more  given  to  the  Orphan 
Asylum.  Give  it  in  your  own  name.  You  only  have  the 
right  to  give.  Don't  have  my  name  mentioned  in  the  matter. 
Will  you  promise  me  this,  also  ? " 

"Yes,  it  shall  be  done.     Is  there  anything  else?" 

"  Thank  you ;  that  is  all  as  regards  money  matters.  Raise 
my  pillow  a  little;  there,  that  will  do.  Father,  can't  you  do 
something  to  save  Eugene  ? " 

"Kecently  I  have  expostulated  with  him,  and  he  seemed 
disposed  to  reform  his  habits.  Acknowledged  that  his  asso- 
ciations had  been  injurious,  and  regretted  the  excesses  into 
which  he  came  from  college,  but  I  think,  now  he  is  married, 
he  will  sober  down.  That  is  one  reason  why  I  encouraged  his 
marrying  so  early." 

"Father,  Antoinette  is  not  the  woman  to  reform  him. 
Don't  trust  to  her  influence;  if  you  do,  Eugene  will  be  ruined. 
Watch  over  him  closely  yourself;  try  to  win  him  away  from 
the  haunts  of  dissipation;  I  tell  you  now  his  wife  will  never 
do  it.  She  has  duped  you  and  my  mother  as  to  her  character, 
but  you  will  find  that  she  is  as  utterly  heartless  as  her  own 
mother  was.  I  always  opposed  the  match,  because  I  probed 
her  mask  of  dissimulation,  and  knew  that  Eugene  could  not 
be  happy  with  her.  But  the  mistake  is  irretrievable,  and  it 
only  remains  for  you  to  watch  him  the  more  carefully.  Lift 
me,  father,  I  can't  breathe  easily.  There  is  the  doctor  on  the 
steps;  I  am  too  tired  to  talk  any  more  to-day." 


One  week  later,  as  Beulah  was  spending  her  Sabbath  even- 
ing in  her  own  apartment,  she  was  summoned  to  see  her  friend 
for  the  last  time.  It  was  twilight  when  she  reached  Mr.  Gra- 
ham's house  and  glided  noiselessly  up  the  thickly  carpeted 
stairway.  The  bells  were  all  muffled,  and  a  solemn  stillness 
reigned  over  the  mansion.  She  left  her  bonnet  and  shawl  in 
the  hall,  and  softly  entered  the  chamber  unaccompanied.  Un- 
able to  breathe  in  a  horizontal  position,  Cornelia  was  bolstered 
up  in  her  easy-chair.  Her  mother  sat  near  her,  with  her  face 
hid  on  her  husband's  bosom.  Dr.  Hartwell  leaned  against  the 
mantel,  and  Eugene  stood  on  the  hearth  opposite  him,  with 
his  head  bowed  down  on  his  hands.  Cornelia  drew  her  breath 
in  quick  gasps,  and  cold  drops  glistened  on  her  pallid  face. 


114  BEULAH. 

Her  sunken  eyes  wandered  over  the  group,  and  when  Beulah 
drew  near  she  extended  her  hands  eagerly,  while  a  shadowy 
smile  passed  swiftly  over  her  sharpened  features. 

"  Beulah,  come  close  to  me — close."  She  grasped  her  hands 
tightly,  and  Beulah  knelt  at  the  side  of  her  chair. 

"Beulah,  in  a  little  while  I  shall  be  at  rest.  You  will  re- 
joice to  see  me  free  from  pain,  won't  you?  I  have  suffered 
for  so  many  months  and  years.  But  death  is  about  to  release 
me  forever.  Beulah,  is  it  forever? — is  it  forever?  Am  I  going 
down  into  an  eternal  sleep,  on  a  marble  couch,  where  grass 
and  flowers  will  wave  over  me,  and  the  sun  shine  down  on  me  ? 
Yes,  it  must  be  so.  Who  has  ever  waked  from  this  last  dream- 
less slumber?  Abel  was  the  first  to  fall  asleep,  and  since  then, 
who  has  wakened?  No  one.  Earth  is  full  of  pale  sleepers; 
and  I  am  soon  to  join  the  silent  band." 

There  was  a  flickering  light  in  her  eyes,  like  the  flame  of  a 
candle  low  in  its  socket,  and  her  panting  breath  was  painful  to 
listen  to. 

"  Cornelia,  they  say  Jesus  of  Nazareth  slept,  and  woke 
again;  if  so,  you  will " 

"Ha,  but  you  don't  believe  that,  Beulah.  They  say,  they 
say !  Yes,  but  I  never  believed  them  before,  and  I  don't  want 
to  believe  them  now.  I  will  not  believe  it.  It  is  too  late  to 
tell  me  that  now.  Beulah,  I  shall  know  very  soon;  the  veil  of 
mystery  is  being  lifted." 

"  Calm  yourself,  Cornelia.  If  Christianity  is  true,  God  will 
see  that  you  were  honest  in  your  skepticism,  and  judge  you 
leniently.  If  not,  then,  death  is  annihilation,  and  you  have 
nothing  to  dread;  you  will  sink  into  quiet  oblivion  of  all  your 
griefs." 

"Annihilation!  then  I  shall  see  you  all  no  more?  Oh,  why 
was  I  every  created,  to  love  others,  and  then  be  torn  away 
forever,  and  go  back  to  senseless  dust?  I  never  have  been 
happy;  I  have  always  had  aspirations  after  purer,  higher  en- 
joyments than  earth  could  afford  me,  and  must  they  be  lost  in 
dead  clay?  Oh,  Beulah,  can  you  give  me  no  comfort  but  this. 
Is  this  the  sum  of  all  your  study,  .as  well  as  mine  ?  Ah,  it  is 
vain,  useless;  man  can  find  out  nothing.  We  are  all  blind; 
groping  our  way  through  mysterious  paths,  and  now  I  am 
going  into  the  last — the  great  mystery !  " 

She  shook  her  head,  with  a  bitter  smile,  and  closed  her  eyes, 
as  if  to  shut  out  some  hideous  specter.  Dr.,  Hartwell  gave 
her  a  spoonful  of  some  powerful  medicine,  and  stood  watching 
her  face,  distorted  by  the  difficulty  of  breathing.  A  long 
silence  ensued,  broken  only  by  the  sobs  of  the  parents.  Cor- 
nelia leaned  back,  with  closed  eyes,  and  now  and  then  her 
lips  moved,  but  nothing  intelligible  escaped  them.  It  was 
surprising  how  she  seemed  to  rally,  sometimes,  and  breathe 


BEULAH.  115 

with  perfect  ease;  then  the  paroxysms  would  come  on  more 
violently  than  ever.  Beulah  knelt  on  the  floor,  with  her  fore- 
head resting  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  her  hands  still 
grasped  in  the  firm  hold  of  the  dying  girl.  Cornelia  moved  an 
instant,  and  murmured,  audibly: 

"Tor  here  we  have  no  continuing  city,  but  seek  one  to 
come.'  Ah!  what  is  its  name?  that  '  continuing  city!'  Ne- 
cropolis?" Again  she  remained,  for  some  time,  speechless. 

Dr.  Hartwell  softly  wiped  away  the  glistening  drops  on  her 
brow,  and  opening  her  eyes,  she  looked  up  at  him  intently. 
It  was  an  imploring  gaze,  which  mutely  said :  "  Can't  you  help 
me  ?  "  He  leaned  over,  and  answered  it,  sadly  enough : 

"  Courage,  Cornelia !  It  will  soon  be  over  now.  The  worst 
is  past,  my  friend." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  There  is  a  chill  creeping  over  me.  Where  is 
Eugene  ? " 

He  came  and  stood  near  her;  his  face  full  of  anguish,  which 
could  not  vent  itself  in  tears.  Her  features  became  convulsed 
as  she  looked  at  him;  a  wailing  cry  broke  from  her  lips;  and 
extending  her  arms  toward  him,  she  said,  sobbingly: 

"  Shall  I  see  you  no  more — no  more  ?  Oh,  Eugene,  my 
brother,  my  pride,  my  dearest  hope!  whom  I  have  loved  b:tter 
than  my  own  life,  are  we  now  parted  forever — forever!" 

He  laid  her  head  on  his  bosom,  and  endeavored  to  soothe 
her;  but  clinging  to  him,  she  said,  huskily: 

"  Eugene,  with  my  last  breath  I  implore  you ;  forsake  your 
intemperate  companions.  Shun  them  and  their  haunts.  Let 
me  die  feeling  that  at  least  my  dying  prayer  will  save  you! 
Oh,  when  I  am  gone;  when  I  am  silent  in  the  graveyard,  re- 
member how  the  thought  of  your  intemperance  tortured  me! 
Remember  how  I  remonstrated,  and  entreated  you  not  to 
ruin  yourself !  Remember  that  I  loved  you  above  any- 
thing on  earth;  and  that,  in  my  last  hour,  I  prayed  you  to 
save  yourself!  Oh,  Eugene,  for  my  sake!  for  my  sake! 
quit  the  wine  cup,  and  leave  drunkenness  for  others  more 
degraded ! — Promise  me ! — Where  are  you  ? — Oh,  it  is  all  cold 
and  dark! — I  can't  see  you! — Eugene,  promise,  promise! — 
Eugene ! " 

Her  eyes  were  riveted  on  his,  and  her  lips  moved  for  some 
seconds;  then  the  clasping  hands  gradually  relaxed;  the  gasps 
ceased.  Eugene  felt  a  long  shudder  creep  over  the  limbs,  a 
deep,  heavy  sigh  passed  her  lips,  and  Cornelia  Graham's  soul 
was  with  its  God. 

Ah!  after  twenty-three  years  of  hope  and  fear,  struggling 
and  questioning,  what  an  exit!  Eugene  lifted  the  attenuated 
form,  and  placed  it  on  the  bed;  then  threw  himself  into  her 
vacant  chair,  and  sobbed  like  a  broken-hearted  child.  Mr. 
Graham  took  his  wife  from  the  room ;  and  after  some  moments, 


116  BEULAH. 

Dr.  Hartwell  touched  the  kneeling  figure,  with  the  face  still 
pressed  against  the  chair  Eugene  now  occupied. 

"  Come,  Beulah,  she  will  want  you  no  more." 

She  lifted  a  countenance  so  full  of  woe,  that  as  he  looked 
at  her,  the  moisture  gathered  in  his  eyes,  and  he  put  his  hand 
tenderly  on  her  head,  saying: 

"  Come  with  me,  Beulah." 

"And  this  is  death?  Oh,  my  God,  save  me  from  such  a 
death!" 

She  clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and  shivered;  then  ris- 
ing from  her  kneeling  posture,  threw  herself  on  a  couch,  and 
buried  her  face  in  its  cushions.  That  long  night  of  self- 
communion  was  never  forgotten. 


CHAPTEK  XXIV. 

TIME,  "like  a  star,  unhasting,  yet  unresting,"  moved  on. 
The  keen  blasts  of  winter  were  gathered  in  their  northern 
storehouses,  and  the  mild  airs  of  spring  floated  dreamily  be- 
neath genial  skies.  The  day  had  been  cloudless  and  balmy, 
but  now  the  long,  level  rays  of  sunshine,  darting  from  the 
horizon,  told  it  "  was  well-nigh  done  " ;  and  Beulah  sat  on  the 
steps  of  her  cottage  home,  and  watched  the  dolphin-like  death. 
The  face  wore  a  weary,  suffering  look;  the  large,  restless  eyes 
were  sadder  than  ever,  and  there  were  tokens  of  languor  in 
every  feature.  A  few  months  had  strangely  changed  the  coun- 
tenance, once  so  hopeful  and  courageous  in  its  uplifted  ex- 
pression. Mrs.  Williams  had  been  confined  to  her  room  for 
many  days  by  an  attack  of  rheumatism,  and  the  time  devoted 
to  her  was  generally  reclaimed  from  sleep.  It  was  no  mystery 
that  she  looked  ill  and  spent.  Now,  as  she  sat  watching  the 
silver  crescent  glittering  in  the  west,  her  thoughts  wandered 
to  Clara  Sanders,  and  the  last  letter  received  from  her,  telling 
of  a  glorious  day  star  of  hope  which  had  risen  in  her  cloudy 
sky.  Mr.  Arlington's  brother  had  taught  her v  that  the  dream 
of  her  girlhood  was  but  a  fleeting  fancy,  that  she  could  love 
again  more  truly  than  before,  and  in  the  summer  holidays 
she  was  to  give  him  her  hand  and  receive  his  name.  Beulah 
rejoiced  in  her  friend's  happiness,  but  a  dim  foreboding  arose, 
lest,  as  in  Pauline's  case,  thorns  should  spring  up  in  paths 
where  now  only  blossoms  were  visible.  Since  that  letter,  so 
full  of  complaint  and  sorrow,  no  tidings  had  come  from  Pau- 
line. Many  months  had  elapsed,  and  Beulah  wondered  more 
and  more  at  the  prolonged  silence.  She  had  written  several 
times,  but  received  no  answer,  and  imagination  painted  a 
a  wretched  young  wife  in  that  distant  parsonage.  Early  in 
spring,  she  learned  from  Dr.  Asbury  that  Mr.  Lockhart  had 


BEULAH.  117 

died  at  his  plantation,  of  consumption,  and  she  conjectured 
that  Mrs.  Lockhart  must  be  with  her  daughter.  Beulah  half 
arose,  then  leaned  back  against  the  column,  sighed  involun- 
tarily, and  listened  to  that  "  still  small  voice  of  the  level  twi- 
light behind  purple  hills."  Mrs.  Williams  was  asleep,  but  the 
tea-table  waited  for  her,  and  in  her  own  room,  on  her  desk, 
lay  an  unfinished  manuscript  which  was  due  the  editor  the 
next  morning.  She  was  rigidly  punctual  in  handing  in  her 
contributions,  cost  her  what  it  might ;  yet  now  she  shrank  from 
the  task  of  copying  and  punctuating,  and  sat  a  while  longer, 
with  the  gentle  southern  breeze  rippling  over  her  hot  brow. 
She  no  longer  wrote  incognito;  by  accident  she  was  discovered 
as  the  authoress  of  several  articles  commented  upon  by  other 
/  journals,  and  more  than  once  her  humble  home  had  been  vis- 
ited by  some  of  the  leading  litterati  of  the  place.  Her  suc- 
cessful career,  thus  far,  inflamed  the  ambition  which  formed 
so  powerful  an  element  in  her  mental  organization,  and  a  long- 
ing desire  for  fame  took  possession  of  her  soul.  Early  and  late 
she  toiled;  one  article  was  scarcely  in  the  hands  of  the  com- 
positor ere  she  was  engaged  upon  another.  She  lived,  as  it 
were,  in  a  perpetual  brain  fever,  and  her  physical  frame  suf- 
fered proportionately.  The  little  gate  opened  and  closed  with 
a  creaking  sound,  and  hearing  a  step  near  her,  Beulah  looked 
up  and  saw  her  guardian  before  her.  The  light  from  the 
dining-room  fell  on  his  face,  and  a  glance  showed  her  that, 
although  it  was  pale  and  inflexible  as  ever,  something  of  more 
than  ordinary  interest  had  induced  this  visit.  He  had  never 
entered  that  gate  before;  and  she  sprang  up,  and  held  out  both 
hands  with  an  eager  cry: 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  once  more ! " 

He  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  looked  at  her  gravely;  then 
made  her  sit  down  again  on  the  step,  and  said: 

"  I  suppose  you  would  have  died  before  you  could  get  your 
consent  to  send  for  me?  It  is  well  that  you  have  somebody 
to  look  after  you.  How  long  have  you  had  this  fever?" 

"  Fever !  Why,  sir,  I  have  no  fever,"  she  replied,,  with  some 
surprise. 

"  Oh,  child !  are  you  trying  to  destroy  yourself  by  your  ob- 
stinacy? If  so,  like  most  other  things  you  undertake,  you 
will  succeed." 

He  held  her  hands,  and  kept  his  fingers  on  the  quick- 
bounding  pulse.  Beulah  had  not  seen  him  since  th6  night  of 
Cornelia's  death,  some  months  before,  and  conjectured  that 
Dr.  Asbury  had  told  him  she  was  not  looking  well. 

She  could  not  bear  the  steady,  searching  gaze  of  his  luminous 
eyes,  and  moving  restlessly,  said: 

"Sir,  what  induces  you  to  suppose  that  I  am  sick?  I  have 
complained  of  indisposition  to  no  one." 


118  BEULAH. 

"  Of  course  you  have  not,  for  people  are  to  believe  that  you 
are  a  gutta-percha  automaton." 

She  fancied  his  tone  was  slightly  sneering;  but  his  counte- 
nance wore  the  expression  of  anxious,  protecting  interest, 
which  she  had  so  prized  in  days  past,  and  as  her  hands  trem- 
bled in  his  clasp,  and  his  firm  hold  tightened,  she  felt  that  it 
was  useless  to  attempt  to  conceal  the  truth  longer. 

"  I  didn't  know  I  was  feverish,  but  for  some  time  I  have 
daily  grown  weaker;  I  tremble  when  I  stand  or  walk,  and  I  am 
not  able  to  sleep.  That  is  all." 

He  smiled  at  her  earnest  face,  and  asked: 

"  Is  that  all,  child  ?    Is  that  all  ? " 

"Yes,  sir,  all." 

"  And  here  you  have  been,  with  a  continued,  wasting  nervous 
fever,  for  you  know  not  how  many  days,  yet  keep  on  your 
round  of  labors,  without  cessation  ? " 

He  dropped  her  hands,  and  folded  his  arms  across  his  broad 
chest,  keeping  his  eyes  upon  her. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  ill ;  but  I  believe  I  need  some  modicine  to 
strengthen  me." 

"  Yes,  child ;  you  do,  indeed,  need  a  medicine,  but  it  is  one 
you  will  never  take." 

"  Try  me,  sir,"  answered  she,  smiling. 

"  Try  you  ?  I  might  as  well  try  to  win  an  eagle  from  its 
lonely,  rocky  home.  Beulah,  you  need  rest.  Rest  for  mind, 
body  and  heart.  But  you  will  not  take  it;  oh,  no,  of  course 
you  won't !  " 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow,  and  swept  back  the  glossy 
chestnut  hair,  as  if  it  oppressed  him. 

"  I  would  willingly  take  it,  sir,  if  I  could ;  but  the  summer 
vacation  is  still  distant,  and,  besides,  my  engagements  oblige 
me  to  exert  myself.  It  is  a  necessity  with  me." 

"Rather  say,  sheer  obstinacy,"  said  he,  sternly. 

"You  are  severe,  sir,"  replied  Beulah,  lifting  her  head 
haughtily. 

"  No,  I  only  call  things  by  their  proper  names." 

"Very  well;  if  you  prefer  it,  then,  obstinacy  compels  me 
just  now  to  deny  myself  the  rest  you  prescribe." 

"  Yes,  rightly  spoken ;  and  it  will  soon  compel  you  to  a  long 
rest,  in  the  quiet  place  where  Cornelia  waits  for  you.  You  are  a 
mere  shadow  now,  and  a  few  more  months  will  complete  your 
design.  I  have  blamed  myself  more  than  once  that  I  did  not 
suffer  you  to  die  with  Lilly,  as  you  certainly  would  have  done, 
had  I  not  tended  you  so  closely.  Your  death,  then,  would  have 
saved  me  much  care  and  sorrow,  and  you  many  struggles." 

There  was  a  shadow  on  his  face,  and  his  voice  had  the  deep, 
musical  tone  which  always  made  her  heart  thrill.  Her  eyelids 
drooped,  as  she  said,  sadly: 


BEULAH.  119 

"You  are  unjust.  We  meet  rarely  enough,  Heaven  knows. 
Why  do  you  invariably  make  these  occasions  seasons  of  up- 
braiding; of  taunts,  and  sneers?  Sir,  I  owe  you  my  life,  and 
more  than  my  life,  and  never  can  I  forget  or  cancel  my  obliga- 
tions ;  but  are  you  no  longer  my  friend  ? " 

His  whole  face  lighted  up;  the  firm  mouth  trembled: 

"No,  Beulah.    I  am  no  longer  your  friend." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  a  quiver  crept  across  her  lips. 
She  had  never  seen  that  eager  expression  in  his  stern  face 
before.  His  dark,  fascinating  eyes  were  full  of  pleading  ten- 
derness, and  as  she  drooped  her  head  on  her  lap,  she  knew  that 
Clara  was  right,  that  she  was  dearer  to  her  guardian  than 
anyone  else.  A  half-smothered  groan  escaped  her,  and  there 
was  a  short  pause. 

Dr.  Hartwell  put  his  hands  gently  on  her  bowed  head,  and 
lifted  the  face. 

"  Child,  does  it  surprise  you  ?  " 

She  said  nothing,  and  leaning  her  head  against  him,  as  she 
had  pften  done  years  before,  he  passed  his  hand  caressingly 
over  the  folds  of  her  hair,  and  added : 

"  You  call  me  your  guardian ;  make  me  such.  I  can  no 
longer  be  only  your  friend;  I  must  either  be  more,  or  hence- 
forth a  stranger.  My  life  has  been  full  of  sorrow  and  bitter- 
ness, but  you  can  bring  sunlight  to  my  home  and  heart.  You 
were  too  proud  to  be  adopted.  Once  I  asked  you  to  be  my 
child.  Ah!  I  did  not  know  my  own  heart  then.  Our  separa- 
tion during  the  yellow  fever  season  first  taught  me  how  inex- 
pressibly dear  you  were  to  me,  how  entirely  you  filled  my 
heart.  Now,  I  ask  you  to  be  my  wife :  to  give  yourself  to  me. 
Oh,  Beulah,  come  back  to  my  cheerless  home!  Rest  your 
lonely  heart,  my  proud  darling." 

"  Impossible.  Do  not  ask  it !  I  cannot !  I  cannot !  "  cried 
Beulah,  shuddering  violently. 

"Why  not,  my  little  Beulah?" 

He  clasped  his  arm  around  her  and  drew  her  close  to  him, 
while  his  head  was  bent  so  low  that  his  brown  hair  touched 
her  cheek. 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  would  rather  die !  I  should  be  miserable  as  your 
wife.  You  do  not  love  me,  sir;  you  are  lonely,  and  miss 
my  presence  in  your  house;  but  that  is  not  love,  and  mar- 
riage would  be  a  mockery.  You  would  despise  a  wife  who 
was  such  only  from  gratitude.  Do  not  ask  this  of  me;  we 
would  both  be  wretched.  You  pity  my  loneliness  and  pov- 
erty, and  I  reverence  you;  nay,  more,  I  love  you,  sir,  as  my 
best  friend;  I  love  you  as  my  protector.  You  are  all  I  have 
on  earth  to  look  to  for  sympathy  and  guidance.  You  are  all 
I  have,  but  I  cannot  marry  you ;  oh,  no,  no !  a  thousand  times, 
no !  "  She  shrank  away  from  the  touch  of  his  lips  on  her 


120  BEULAH. 

brow,  and  an  expression  of  hopeless  suffering  settled  upon 
her  face. 

He  withdrew  his  arm,  and  rose. 

"Beulah,  I  have  seen  sunlit  bubbles  gliding  swiftly  on  the 
bosom  of  a  clear  brook,  and  casting  golden  shadows  down  upon 
the  pebbly  bed.  Such  a  shadow  you  are  now  chasing;  ah, 
child,  the  shadow  of  a  gilded  bubble !  Panting  and  eager,  you 
clutch  at  it;  the  bubble  dances  on,  the  shadow  with  it;  and 
Beulah,  you  will  never,  never  grasp  it.  Ambition  such  as 
yours,  which  aims  at  literary  fame,  is  the  deadliest  foe  to  hap- 
piness. Poor  child,  it  needs  no  prophetic  vision  to  predict  your 
ill-starred  career!  Already  the  consuming  fever  has  begun  its 
march.  In  far  distant  lands,  I  shall  have  no  tidings  of  you, 
but  none  will  be  needed.  Perhaps,  when  I  travel  home  to  die, 
your  feverish  dream  will  have  ended;  or  perchance,  sinking  to 
eternal  rest  in  some  palm  grove  of  the  far  East,  we  shall  meet 
no  more.  Since  the  day  I  took  you  in  my  arms  from  Lilly's 
coffin,  you  have  been  my  only  hope,  my  all.  You  little  knew  how 
precious  you  were  to  me,  nor  what  keen  suffering  our  estrange- 
ment cost  me.  Oh,  child,  I  have  loved  you  as  only  a  strong, 
suffering,  passionate  heart  could  love  its  last  idol !  But  I,  too, 
chased  a  shadow.  Experience  should  have  taught  me  wisdom. 
Now  I  am  a  gloomy,  joyless  man,  weary  of  my  home,  and 
henceforth  a  wanderer.  Asbury  (if  he  lives)  will  be  truly 
your  friend,  and  to  him  I  shall  commit  the  legacy  which, 
hitherto,  you  have  refused  to  accept.  Mr.  Graham  paid  it  into 
my  hands,  after  his  last  unsatisfactory  interview  with  you. 
The  day  may  come  when  you  will  need  it.  I  shall  send  you 
some  medicine,  which,  for  your  own  sake,  you  had  better  take 
immediately;  but  you  will  never  grow  stronger  until  you  give 
yourself  rest,  relaxation,  physically  and  mentally.  Remember, 
when  your  health  is  broken,  and  all  your  hopes  are  withered, 
remember  I  warned  you,  and  would  have  saved  you,  and  you 
would  not."  He  stooped,  and  took  his  hat  from  the  floor. 

Beulah  sat  looking  at  him,  stunned,  bewildered,  her  tear- 
less eyes  strained  and  frightened  in  their  expression.  The 
transient  illumination  in  his  face  had  faded,  like  sunset  tints, 
leaving  dull,  leaden  clouds  behind.  His  compressed  lips  were 
firm  again,  and  the  misty  eyes  became  coldly  glittering,  as  one 
sees  stars  brighten  in  a  frosty  air. 

He  put  on  his  hat,  and  they  looked  at  each  other  fixedly. 

"You  are  not  in  earnest?  you  are  not  going  to  quit  your 
home  ? "  cried  Beulah,  in  a  broken,  unsteady  tone. 

"  Yes,  going  into  the  far  East ;  to  the  ruined  altars  of  Baal- 
bee;  to  Meroc,  to  Tartary,  India,  China,  and  only  fate  knows 
where  else.  Perhaps  find  a  cool  Nebo  in  some  Himalayan 
range.  Going?  Yes.  Did  you  suppose  I  meant  only  to  oper- 
ate on  your  sympathies?  I  know  you  too  well.  What  is  it  to 


BEULAH.  121 

you  whether  I  live  or  die?  "whether  my  weary  feet  rest  in  an 
Indian  jungle,  or  a  sunny  slope  of  the  city  cemetery?  Yes, 
I  am  going  very  soon,  and  this  is  our  last  meeting.  I  shall 
not  again  disturb  you  in  your  ambitious  pursuits.  Ah, 
child " 

"  Oh,  don't  go !  don't  leave  me !  I  beg,  I  implore  you,  not 
to  leave  me.  Oh,  I  am  so  desolate !  don't  forsake  me !  I  could 
not  bear  to  know  you  were  gone.  Oh,  don't  leave  me ! "  She 
sprang  up,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck,  clung  to 
him,  trembling  like  a  frightened  child.  But  there  was  no 
relaxation  of  his  pale,  fixed  features,  as  he  coldly  answered: 

"  Once  resolved,  I  never  waver.  So  surely  as  I  live,  I  shall 
go.  It  might  have  been  otherwise,  but  you  decided  it  your- 
self. An  hour  ago,  you  held  my  destiny  in  your  hands;  now 
it  is  fixed.  I  should  have  gone  six  years  since,  had  I  not  in- 
dulged a  lingering  hope  of  happiness  in  your  love.  Child, 
don't  shiver,  and  cling  to  me  so.  Oceans  will  soon  roll  be- 
tween us,  and,  for  a  time,  you  will  have  no  leisure  to  regret 
my  absence.  Henceforth  we  are  strangers." 

"  No,  that  shall  never  be.  You  do  not  mean  it ;  you  know 
it  is  impossible.  You  know  that  I  prize  your  friendship  above 
every  earthly  thing.  You  know  that  I  look  up  to  you  as  to 
no  one  else.  That  I  shall  be  miserable,  oh,  how  miserable, 
if  you  leave  me !  Oh,  sir,  I  have  mourned  over  your  coldness 
and  indifference;  don't  cast  me  off!  Don't  go  to  distant  lands, 
and  leave  me  to  struggle  without  aid  or  counsel  in  this  self- 
ish, unfriendly  world !  My  heart  dies  within  me  at  the 
thought  of  your  being  where  I  shall  not  be  able  to  see  you. 
Oh,  my  guardian,  don't  forsake  me ! " 

She  pressed  her  face  against  his  shoulder,  and  clasped  her 
arms  firmly  round  his  neck. 

"  I  am  not  your  guardian,  Beulah.  You  refused  to  make 
me  such.  You  are  a  proud,  ambitious  woman,  solicitous  only 
to  secure  eminence  as  an  authoress.  I  asked  your  heart;  you 
have  now  none  to  give;  but  perhaps  some  day  you  will  love 
me,  as  devotedly,  nay,  as  madly,  as  I  have  long  loved  you; 
for  love  like  mine  would  wake  affection  even  in  a  marble 
image;  but  then,  rolling  oceans  and  trackless  deserts  will  di- 
vide us.  And  now,  good-by.  Make  yourself  a  name ;  bind  your 
aching  brow  with  the  chaplet  of  Fame,  and  see  if  ambition  can 
fill  your  heart.  Good-by,  dear  child." 

Gently  he  drew  her  arms  from  his  neck,  and  took  her  face 
in  his  soft  palms.  He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  sadly  and 
earnestly,  as  if  striving  to  fix  her  features  in  the  frame  of 
memory;  t^en  bent  his  head  and  pressed  a  long  kiss  on  her 
lips.  She  put  out  her  hands,  but  he  had  gone,  and  sinking 
down  on  the  step,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  arms.  A  pall  seemed 
suddenly  thrown  over  the  future,  and  the  orphaned  heart 


122  BEULAH. 

shrank  back  from  the  lonely  path  where  only  specters  were 
visible.  Never  before  had  she  realized  how  dear  he  was  to 
her,  how  large  a  share  of  her  love  he  possessed,  and  now  the 
prospect  of  a  long,  perhaps  final  separation,  filled  her  with  a 
shivering,  horrible  dread.  We  have  seen  that  self-reliance  was 
a  powerful  element  of  her  character,  and  she  had  learned,  from 
painful  necessity,  to  depend  as  little  as  possible  upon  the  sym- 
pathies of  others;  but  in  this  hour  of  anguish  a  sense  of  joy- 
less isolation  conquered;  her  proud  soul  bowed  down  beneath 
the  weight  of  intolerable  grief,  and  acknowledged  itself  not 
wholly  independent  of  the  love  and  presence  of  her  guardian. 

Beulah  went  back  to  her  desk,  and  with  tearless  eyes  began 
the  allotted  task  of  writing.  The  article  was  due,  and  must 
be  finished;  was  there  not  a  long,  dark  future  in  which  to 
mourn?  The  sketch  was  designed  to  prove  that  woman's  hap- 
piness was  not  necessarily  dependent  upon  marriage.  That 
a  single  life  might  be  more  useful,  more  tranquil,  more  un- 
selfish. Beulah  had  painted  her  heroine  in  glowing  tints,  and 
triumphantly  proved  her  theory  correct,  while  to  female  influ- 
ence she  awarded  a  sphere  (exclusive  of  rostrums  and  all 
political  arenas)  wide  as  the  universe,  and  high  as  heaven. 
Weary  work  it  all  seemed  to  her  now;  but  she  wrote  on,  and 
on,  and  finally  the  last  page  was  copied  and  the  last  punctua- 
tion mark  affixed.  She  wrapped  up  ,the  manuscript,  directed 
it  to  the  editor,  and  then  the  pen  fell  from  her  nerveless  fin- 
gers, and  her  head  went  down,  with  wailing  cry,  on  her  desk. 
There  the  morning  sun  flashed  upon  a  white  face,  tear-stained 
and  full  of  keen  anguish.  How  her  readers  would  have  mar- 
veled at  the  sight !  Ah,  "  Verily  the  heart  knoweth  its  own 
bitterness." 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

ONE  afternoon  in  the  following  week,  Mrs.  Williams  sat 
wrapped  up  in  the  hall,  watching  Beulah's  movements  in  the 
yard  at  the  rear  of  the  house.  The  whitewashed  paling  was 
covered  with  luxuriant  raspberry  vines,  and  in  one  corner  of 
the  garden  was  a  bed  of  strawberry  plants'.  Over  this  bed 
Beulah  was  bending  with  a  basket,  nearly  filled  with  the  ripe 
scarlet  berries.  Stooping  close  to  the  plants,  she  saw  only  the 
fruit  she  was  engaged  in  picking,  and  when  the  basket  was 
quite  full,  she  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  merry  laugh,  and 
a  pair  of  hands  clasped  over  her  eyes. 

"Who  blindfolds  me?|'  said  she. 

"  Guess,  you  solemn  witch." 

"  Why,   Georgia,  of  course." 

The  hands  were  removed,  and  Georgia  Asbury's  merry  face 
greeted  her. 


BEULAH.  123 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Georgia.    Where  is  Helen?" 

"  Oh,  gone  to  ride  with  one  of  her  adorers,  but  I  have 
brought  somebody  to  see  you  who  is  worth  the  whole  Asbury 
family.  No  less  a  personage  than  my  famous  cousin  Reginald 
Lindsay,  whom  you  have  heard  us  speak  of  so  often.  Oh,  how 
tempting  the  luscious  berries  are !  Reginald  and  I  intend  to 
stay  to  tea,  and  father  will  perhaps  come  out  in  the  carriage 
for  us.  Come,  yonder  is  my  cousin  on  the  gallery  looking  at 
you,  and  pretending  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Williams.  He  has  read 
your  magazine  sketches  and  is  very  anxious  to  see  you.  How 
nicely  you  look;  only  a  little  too  statuish!  Can't  you  get 
up  a  smile?  lhat  is  better.  Here,  let  me  twine  this  cluster 
of  wistaria  in  your  hair;  I  stole  it  as  I  ran  up  the  steps." 

Beulah  was  clad  in  a  pure  white  mull  muslin,  and  wore  a 
short  black  silk  apron,  confined  at  the  waist  by  a  heavy  cord  and 
tassel.  Georgia  fastened  the  purple  blossoms  in  her  silky  hair, 
and  they  entered  the  house.  Mr.  Lindsay  met  them,  and  as 
his  cousin  introduced  him,  Beulah  looked  at  him,  and  met  the 
earnest  gaze  of  a  pair  of  deep,  blue  eyes,  which  seemed  to  index 
a  nature  singularly  tranquil.  She  greeted  him  quietly,  and 
would  have  led  the  way  to  the  front  of  the  house,  but  Georgia 
threw  herself  down  on  the  steps,  and  exclaimed,  eagerly: 

"  Do  let  us  stay  here ;  the  air  is  so  deliciously  sweet  and 
cool.  Cousin,  there  is  a  chair.  Beulah,  you  and  I  will  stem 
these  berries  at  once,  so  that  they  may  be  ready  for  tea." 

She  took  the  basket,  and  soon  their  fingers  were  stained  with 
the  rosy  juice  of  the  fragrant  fruit.  All  restraint  vanished; 
the  conversation  was  gay,  and  spiced  now  and  then  with  rep- 
artees which  elicited  Georgia's  birdish  laugh,  and  banished 
for  a  time  the  weary,  joyless  expression  of  Beulah's  counte- 
nance. The  berries  were  finally  arranged  to  suit  Georgia's 
taste,  and  the  party  returned  to  the  little  parlor.  Here  Beu- 
lah was  soon  engaged  by  Mr.  Lindsay  in  the  discussion  of 
some  of  the  leading  literary  questions  of  the  day.  She  forgot 
the  great  sorrow  that  brooded  over  her  heart,  a  faint,  pearly 
glow  crept  into  her  cheeks,  and  the  mouth  lost  its  expression 
of  resolute  endurance.  She  found  Mr.  Lindsay  highly  culti- 
vated in  his  tastes,  polished  in  his  manners,  and  possessed  of 
rare  intellectual  attainments,  while  the  utter  absence  of  ego- 
tism and  pedantry  impressed  her  with  involuntary  admira- 
tion. 

Soon  after,  Beulah  took  her  place  at  the  tea-table,  and  con- 
versation turned  on  the  delights  of  country  life. 

"  Are  you  residing  near  Mr.  Arlington  ? "  said  Beulah. 

"Quite  near;  his  plantation  adjoins  mine.  Is  he  a  friend 
of  yours  ? " 

"  No,  but  I  have  a  friend  living  this  year  in  his  family.  Miss 
Sanders  is  governess  for  his  children.  You  probably  knew  her." 


124  BEULAH. 

"  Yes,  I  see  her  occasionally.  Report  says  she  is  soon  to  be- 
come the  bride  of  Richard  Arlington." 

A  slight  smile  curved  his  lips  as  he  watched  Beulah's  counte- 
nance. She  offered  no  comment,  and  he  perceived  that  the  on 
dit  was  not  new  to  her. 

"  Beulah,  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  Dr.  Hartwell's  in- 
tended journey  to  the  East?  What  an  oddity  he  is!  Told  me 
he  contemplated  renting  a  bungalow  somewhere  in  heathendom, 
and  turning  either  Brahmin  or  Parsee,  he  had  not  quite  de- 
cided which.  He  has  sold  his  beautiful  place  to  the  Farleys. 
The  greenhouse  plants  he  gave  to  mother,  and  all  the  statuary 
and  paintings  are  to  be  sent  to  us  until  his  return,  which  can- 
not be  predicted  with  any  certainty.  Father  frets  a  good  deal 
over  this  freak,  as  he  calls  it,  and  says  the  doctor  had  much 
better  stay  at  home  and  physic  the  sick.  I  thought  it  was  a 
sudden  whim,  but  he  says  he  has  contemplated  the  trip  for  a 
long  time.  He  is  going  immediately,  I  believe.  It  must  be  a 
trial  to  you,"  said  the  thoughtless  girl. 

"  Yes,  I  cannot  realize  it  yet,"  replied  Beulah,  struggling  with 
herself  for  composure,  and  hastily  setting  down  her  teacup, 
which  trembled  violently.  The  shadows  swept  over  her  once 
more.  Mr.  Lindsay  noticed  her  agitation,  and  with  delicate 
consideration  forbore  to  look  at  her.  Georgia  continued,  heed- 
lessly : 

"  I  wanted  that  melodeon  that  sits  in  his  study,  but  though 
the  remainder  of  the  furniture  is  to.  be  auctioned  off,  he  says 
he  will  not  sell  the  melodeon,  and  requested  my  father  to  have 
it  carefully  locked  up  somewhere  at  home.  I  asked  if  I  might 
not  use  it,  and  what  do  you  suppose  he  said?  That  I  might 
have  his  grand  piano,  if  I  would  accept  it,  but  that  nobody  was 
to  touch  his  melodeon.  I  told  him  he  ought  to  send  the  piano 
out  to  you,  in  his  absence,  but  he  looked  cross,  and  said  you 
would  not  use  it  if  he  did." 

Poor  Beulah !  her  lips  quivered,  and  her  fingers  clasped  each 
other  tightly,  but  she  said  nothing.  Just  then  she  heard  Dr. 
Asbury's  quick  step  in  the  hall,  and  to  her  infinite  delight,  he 
entered,  accompanied  by  Helen.  She  saw  that  though  his  man- 
ner was  kind  and  bantering  as  usual,  there  was  an  anxious  look 
on  his  benevolent  face,  and  his  heavy  brows  occasionally 
knitted.  When  he  went  into  the  adjoining  room  to  see  Mrs. 
Williams,  she  understood  his  glance,  and  followed  him.  He 
paused  in  the  hall,  and  said,  eagerly :  "  Has  Hartwell  been  here 
lately?" 

"  Yes,  he  was  here  last  week." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  of  his  whim  about  traveling  East  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  told  me." 

"  Beulah,  take  care  what  you  are  about !  You  are  working 
mischief  not  easily  rectified.  Child,  keep  Guy  at  home ! " 


BEULAH.  125 

-s 

"He  is  master  of  his  own  movements,  and  you  know  his 
stubborn  will.  I  would  keep  him  here  if  I  could,  but  I  have 
no  influence." 

"  All  fiddlesticks !  I  know  better !  I  am  neither  a  bat  nor  a 
mole.  Beulah,  I  warn  you ;  I  beg  you,  child,  mind  how  you  act. 
Once  entirely  estranged,  all  the  steam  in  Christendom  could  not 
force  him  back.  Don't  let  him  go;  if  you  do,  the  game  is  up, 
I  tell  you  now.  You  will  repent  your  own  work,  if  you  do  not 
take  care.  I  told  him  he  was  a  fool,  to  leave  such  a  position  as 
his,  and  go  to  dodging  robbers  in  Eastern  deserts ;  whereupon  he 
looked  as  bland  and  impenetrable  as  if  I  had  compai'ed  him  to 
Solomon.  There,  go  back  to  your  company,  and  mind  what  I 
say;  don't  let  Guy  go." 

He  left  her;  and  though  she  exerted  herself  to  entertain  her 
guests,  Mr.  Lindsay  saw  that  her  mind  was  troubled,  and  her 
heart  oppressed.  He  endeavored  to  divert  her  thoughts  by  in- 
troducing various  topics;  and  she  talked  and  smiled,  and  even 
played  and  sang,  yet  the  unlifting  cloud  lay  on  her  brow.  The 
evening  seemed  strangely  long,  and  she  accompanied  her  vis- 
itors to  the  door  with  a  sensation  of  relief.  At  parting,  Mr. 
Lindsay  took  her  hand,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  May  I  come  whenever  I  am  in  your  city  ? " 

"  Certainly;  I  shall  be  pleased  to  see  you,  when  you  have 
leisure,"  she  replied,  hurriedly. 

"  I  shall  avail  myself  of  your  permission,  I  assure  you." 

She  had  often  heard  Dr.  Asbury  speak,  with  fond  pride,  of 
this  nephew ;  and  as  Eugene  had  also  frequently  mentioned  him 
in  his  early  letters  from  Heidelberg,  she  felt  that  he  was  scarcely 
a  stranger  in  the  ordinary  acceptance  of  the  term.  To  her,  his 
parting  words  seemed  merely  polite,  commonplace  forms;  and 
with  no  thought  of  a  future  acquaintance,  she  dismissed  him 
from  her  mind,  which  was  too  painfully  preoccupied  to  dwell 
upon  the  circumstances  of  his  visit. 

A  few  days  passed,  and  one  Saturday  morning  she  sat  in  the 
dining-room,  finishing  a  large  drawing,  upon  which  she  had 
for  months  expended  all  her  leisure  moments.  It  was  designed 
from  a  description  in  "  Queen  Mab,"  and  she  took  up  her 
crayon  to  give  the  final  touch,  when  heavy  steps  in  the  hall 
arrested  her  attention,  and  glancing  toward  the  door,  she  saw 
Hal,  Dr.  Hartwell's  driver,  with  a  wooden  box  on  his  shoulder, 
and  Charon  by  his  side.  The  latter  barked  with  delight,  and 
sprang  to  meet  the  girl,  who  had  hastily  risen. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Beulah  ?  It  is  many  a  day  since  I 
have  seen  you,  and  you  look  the  worse  of  wear,  too.  Haven't 
been  sick,  have  you  ? "  said  Hal,  sliding  the  box  down  on  the 
floor. 

"  Xot  exactly  sick,  but  not  so  well  as  usual,"  she  answered, 
passing  her  trembling  hands  over  the  dog's  head. 


126  BEULAH. 

"Well,  I  don't  see,  for  my  part,  what  is  to  become  of  us 
all,  now  master's  gone " 

"  Gone !  "  echoed  Beulah. 

"  Why,  to  be  sure.  He  started  to  the  plantation  yesterday,  to 
set  things  all  in  order  there,  and  he  is  going  straight  on  to  New 
York.  The  house  looks  desolate  enough,  and  I  feel  like  I  was 
about  to  dig  my  own  grave.  Just  before  he  left,  he  called  me 
into  his  study,  and  told  me  that  as  soon  as  he  had  gone,  I  was 
to  bring  Charon  over  to  you,  and  ask  you  to  keep  him,  and  take 
care  of  him.  He  tried  to  unlock  the  collar  on  his  neck,  but 
somehow  the  key  would  not  turn.  Master  looked  dreadful  sad 
when  he  patted  poor  Char's  head,  and  let  the  brute  put  his 
paws  on  his  shoulders  for  the  last  time.  Just  as  the  boat 
pushed  off,  he  called  to  me  to  be  sure  to  bring  him  to  you;  so 
here  he  is;  and,  Miss  Beulah,  the  poor  fellow  seems  to  know 
somthing  is  wrong;  he  whined  all  night,  and  ran  over  the 
empty  house  this  morning,  growling  and  sniffing.  You  are  to 
keep  him  till  master  comes  home;  the  Lord  only  knows  when 
that  will  be.  I  tried  to  find  out,  but  he  looked  for  the  world 
like  one  of  them  stone  faces  in  the  study,  and  gave  me  no  sat- 
isfaction. Miss  Beulah,  Dr.  Asbury  was  at  the  house  just  as 
I  started,  and  he  sent  over  this  box  to  you.  Told  me  to  tell 
you  that  he  had  all  the  pictures  moved  to  his  house,  but  had  not 
room  to  hang  all,  so  he  sent  one  over  for  you  to  take  care  of. 
Shall  I  take  it  out  of  the  case? " 

"  Never  mind,  Hal,  I  can  do  that.  Did  your  master  leave 
no  other  message  for  me?  was  there  no  note?"  She  leaned 
heavily  on  a  chair  to  support  herself. 

"  None  that  I  know  of,  except  that  you  must  be  kind  to 
Charon.  I  have  no  time  to  spare;  Dr.  Asbury  needs  me;  so 
good-by,  Miss  Beulah.  I  will  stop  some  day  when  I  am  pass- 
ing, and  see  how  the  dog  comes  on.  I  know  he  will  be  satisfied 
with  you." 

The  faithful  servant  touched  his  hat  and  withdrew.  .The 
storm  of  grief  could  no  longer  be  repressed,  and  sinking  down 
on  the  floor,  Beulah  clasped  her  arms  round  Charon's  neck,  and 
hid  her  face  in  his  soft,  curling  hair,  while  her  whole  frame 
shook  with  convulsive  sobs.  She  had  not  believed  her  guar- 
dian would  leave  her  without  coming  again,  and  had  confidently 
expected  him,  and  now  he  had  gone.  Perhaps  forever;  at  best 
for  many  years.  She  might  never  see  him  again,  and  this 
thought  was  more  than  she  could  endure.  The  proud  restraint 
she  was  wont  to  impose  upon  her  feelings  all  vanished,  and  in 
her  despairing  sorrow  she  wept  and  moaned,  as  she  had  never 
done  before,  even  when  Lilly  was  taken  from  her.  Charon 
crouched  close  to  her,  with  a  mute  grief  clearly  written  in  his 
sober,  sagacious  countenance,  and  each  clung  to  the  other,  as 
to  a  last  stay  and  solace.  He  was  a  powerful  animal,  with 


BEULAH.  127 

huge  limbs  and  a  thick,  shaggy  covering,  sable  as  midnight, 
without  a  speck  of  white  about  him.  Around  his  neck  was  a 
silver  chain,  supporting  a  broad  piece  of  plate,  on  which  was 
engraved,  in  German  letters,  the  single  word  "  Hartwell."  How 
long  she  sat  there  Beulah  knew  not,  but  a  growl  roused  her,  and 
she  saw  Mrs.  Williams  looking  sorrowfully  at  her. 

"My  child,  what  makes  you  moan  and  weep  so  bitterly?" 

"  Oh,  because  I  am  so  miserable ;  because  I  have  lost  my 
best  friend;  my  only  friend;  my  guardian.  He  has  gone — 
gone !  and  I  did  not  see  him."  With  a  stifled  cry  her  face  went 
down  again. 

The  matron  had  never  seen  her  so  unnerved  before,  and 
wondered  at  the  vehemence  of  her  grief,  but  knew  her  nature 
too  well  to  attempt  consolation.  Beulah  lifted  the  box  and 
retired  to  her  own  room,  followed  by  Charon.  Securing  the 
door,  she  put  the  case  on  the  table  and  looked  at  it  wistfully. 
Were  her  conjectures,  her  hopes  correct?  She  raised  the  lid, 
and  unwrapped  the  frame,  and  there  was  the  noble  head  of  her 
guardian.  She  hung  the  portrait  on  a  hook  just  above  her  desk, 
and  then  stood,  with  streaming  eyes,  looking  up  at  it.  It  had 
been  painted  a  few  weeks  after  his  marriage,  and  represented 
him  in  the  full  morning  of  manhood,  ere  his  heart  was  embit- 
tered and  his  clear  brow  overshadowed.  The  artist  had  suf- 
fered a  ray  of  sunshine  to  fall  on  the  brown  hair  that  rippled 
round  his  white  temples  with  careless  grace.  There  was  no 
mustache  to  shade  the  sculptured  lips,  and  they  seemed  about 
to  part  in  one  of  those  rare,  fascinating  smiles  which  Beulah 
had  often  watched  for  in  vain.  The  matchless  eyes  looked  down 
at  her,  with  brooding  tenderness  in  their  hazel  depths,  and  now 
seemed  to  question  her  uncontrollable  grief.  Yet  she  had 
pained  him;  had  in  part  caused  his  exile  from  the  home  of  his 
youth,  and  added  another  sorrow  to  those  which  now  veiled  that 
peerless  face  in  gloom.  He  had  placed  his  happiness  in  her 
hands;  had  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  She  looked  at  the  por- 
trait, and  shuddered  and  moaned.  She  loved  him  above  all 
others !  she  loved  him  as  a  child  adores  its  father ;  but  how 
could  she,  who  had  so  reverenced  him,  consent  to  become  his 
wife?  Besides,  she  could  not  believe  he  loved  her.  He  liked 
her;  pitied  her  isolation  and  orphanage;  felt  the  need  of  her 
society,  and  wanted  her  always  in  his  home.  But  she  could 
not  realize  that  he,  who  so  worshiped  beauty,  could  possibly 
love  her.  It  was  all  like  a  hideous  dream  which  morning  would 
dispel ;  but  there  was  the  reality,  and  there  was  Charon  looking 
steadily  up  at  the  portrait  he  was  at  no  loss  to  recognize. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  have  seen  him  once  more !  If  he  had  parted 
from  me  in  kindness,  it  would  not  have  been  so  intolerable. 
But  to  remember  his  stern,  sad  face,  as  I  last  saw  it;  oh,  how 
can  I  bear  it !  To  have  it  haunting  me  through  life,  like  a 


128  BEULAH. 

horrible  specter ;  no  friendly  words  to  cherish ;  no  final  message ; 
all  gloom  and  anger.  Oh,  how  shall  I  bear  it !  "  and  she  fell  on 
Charon's  neck  and  wept  bitterly. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN  the  early  days  of  summer,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Graham  left  the 
city  for  one  of  the  fashionable  watering  places  on  the  Gulf, 
accompanied  by  Antoinette.  Eugene  remained,  on  some  pre- 
text of  business,  but  promised  to  follow  in  a  short  time.  The 
week  subsequent  to  their  departure  saw  a  party  of  gentlemen 
assembled  to  dine  at  his  house.  The  long  afternoon  wore  away, 
still  they  sat  round  the  table.  The  cloth  had  been  removed, 
and  only  wine  and  cigars  remained;  bottle  after  bottle  was 
emptied,  and  finally  decanters  were  in  requisition.  The  serv- 
ants shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  looked  on  with  amused  ex- 
pectancy. The  conversation  grew  loud  and  boisterous,  now  and 
then  flavored  with  oaths;  twilight  came  on — the  shutters  were 
closed — the .  magnificent  chandelier  lighted.  Eugene  seized  a 
crystal  ice  bowl,  and  was  about  to  extract  a  lump  of  ice  when 
it  fell  from  his  fingers  and  shivered  to  atoms.  A  roar  of 
laughter  succeeded  the  exploit,  and  uncorking  a  fresh  bottle 
of  champagne,  he  demanded  a  song.  Already  a  few  of  the 
guests  were  leaning  on  the  table  stupefied,  but  several  began 
the  strain.  It  was  a  genuine  Bacchanalian  ode,  and  the  deaf- 
ening shout  rose  to  the  frescoed  ceiling  as  the  revelers  leaned 
forward  and  touched  their  glasses.  Touched,  did  I  say ;  it  were 
better  written  clashed.  There  was  a  ringing  chorus  as  crystal 
met  crystal;  glittering  fragments  flew  in  every  direction;  down 
ran  the  foaming  wine,  thick  with  splintered  glass,  on  the  rose- 
wood table.  But  the  strain  was  kept  up;  fresh  glasses  were 
supplied;  fresh  bottles  drained;  the  waiters  looked  on,  won- 
dered where  all  this  would  end,  and  pointed  to  the  ruin  of  the 
costly  service.  The  brilliant  gaslight  shone  on  a  scene  of  reck- 
lessness pitiable  indeed.  All  were  young  men,  and,  except 
Eugene,  all  unmarried;  but  they  seemed  familiar  with  such 
occasions.  One  or  two,  thoroughly  intoxicated,  lay  their  heads 
on  the  table,  unconscious  of  what  passed;  others  struggled  to 
sit  upright,  yet  the  shout  was  still  raised  from  time  to  time. 

"  Fill  up,  and  let  us  have  that  glorious  song  from  '  Lucrezia 
Borgia.'  Hey,  Proctor !  "  cried  Eugene. 

"  That  is  poor  fun  without  Vincent.  He  sings  it  equal  to 
Vestvali.  Fill  up  there,  and  shake  up  Cowdon.  Come,  begin, 
/  and " 

He  raised  his  glass  with  a  disgusting  oath,  and  was  about  to 
commence,  when  Munroe  said,  stammeringly : 


BEULAH.  129 

"  Where  is  Fred,  anyhow  ?  He  is  a  devilish  fine  fellow  for  a 
frolic.  I " 

"  Why  gone  to  the  coast  with  Graham's  pretty  wife.  He  is 
all  devotion.  They  waltz  and  ride,  and  in  fine,  he  is  her 
admirer  par  excellence.  Stop  your  stupid  stammering,  and 
begin." 

Eugene  half  arose  at  this  insulting  mention  of  his  wife's 
name,  but  the  song  was  now  ringing  around  him,  and  sinking 
back,  he,  too,  raised  his  unsteady  voice.  Again  and  again  the 
words  were  madly  shouted;  and  then,  dashing  his  empty  glass 
against  the  marble  mantel,  Proctor  swore  he  would  not  drink 
another  drop.  What  a  picture  of  degradation!  Disordered 
hair,  soiled  clothes,  flushed,  burning  cheeks,  glaring  eyes,  and 
nerveless  hands.  Eugene  attempted  to  rise,  but  fell  back  in 
his  chair,  tearing  off  his  cravat,  which  seemed  to  suffocate  him. 
Proctor,  who  was  too  thoroughly  inured  to  such  excesses  to 
feel  it  as  sensibly  as  the  remainder  of  the  party,  laughed  bru- 
tally, and  kicking  over  a  chair  which  stood  in  his  way,  grasped 
his  host  by  the  arm,  and  exclaimed: 

"  Come  out  of  this  confounded  room;  it  is  as  hot  as  a  fur- 
nace; and  let  us  have  a  ride  to  cool  us.  Come,  Munroe  and 
Cowdon  must  look  after  the  others.  By  Jove,  Graham,  old 
father  Bacchus  himself  could  not  find  fault  with  your  cellar. 
Come." 

Each  took  a  cigar  from  the  stand,  and  descended  to  the  front 
door,  where  a  light  buggy  was  waiting  the  conclusion  of  the 
revel.  It  was  a  cloudless  July  night,  and  the  full  moon  poured 
a  flood  of  silver  over  the  silent  earth.  Proctor  assisted  Eugene 
into  the  buggy,  and  gathering  up  the  reins,  seized  the  whip, 
gave  a  flourish  and  shout,  and  off  sprang  the  spirited  horse, 
which  the  groom  could,  with  difficulty,  hold  until  the  riders 
were  seated. 

"  Now,  Graham,  I  will  bet  a  couple  of  baskets  of  Heidsick 
that  my  royal  Telegraph  will  make  the  first  mile  post  in  2.30. 
What  say  you?" 

"  Done;  2.40  is  the  lowest." 

"  Phew !  Telegraph,  my  jewel,  show  what  manner  of  flesh 
you  are  made  of.  Now,  then,  out  with  your  watch." 

He  shook  the  reins,  and  the  horse  rushed  forward  like  an 
arrow.  Before  the  mile  post  was  reached  it  became  evident 
that  Telegraph  had  taken  the  game  entirely  out  of  his  master's 
hands.  In  vain  the  reins  were  tightened.  Proctor  leaned  so 
far  back  that  his  hat  fell  off.  Still  the  frantic  horse  sped  on. 
The  mile  post  flashed  by,  but  Eugene  could  scarcely  sit  erect, 
much  less  note  the  time.  At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  the 
whir  of  wheels  behind  gave  a  new  impetus  to  Telegraph's  flying 
feet.  They  were  near  a  point  in  the  road  where  an  alley  led 
off  at  right  angles,  and  thinking,  doubtless,  that  it  was  time  to 


130  BEULAH. 

retrace  his  steps,  the  horse  dashed  down  the  alley,  heedless  of 
Proctor's  efforts  to  restrain  him,  and  turning  into  a  neighbor- 
ing street,  rushed  back  toward  the  city.  Bareheaded,  and  with 
heavy  drops  of  perspiration  streaming  from  his  face,  Proctor 
cursed,  and  jerked,  and  drew  the  useless  reins.  On  went  Tele- 
graph, making  good  his  title,  now  swerving  to  this  side  of  the 
road,  and  now  to  that;  but  as  he  approached  a  mass  of  bricks 
which  were  piled  on  one  side  of  the  street,  near  the  foundations 
of  a  new  building,  the  moonlight  flashed  upon  a  piece  of  tin, 
in  the  sand  on  the  opposite  side,  and  frightened  by  the  glitter, 
he  plunged  toward  the  bricks.  The  wheels  struck,  the  buggy 
tilted,  then  came  down  again  with  a  terrible  jolt,  and  Eugene 
was  thrown  out  on  the  pile.  Proctor  was  jerked  over  the  dash- 
board, dragged  some  distance,  and  finally  left  in  the  sand, 
while  Telegraph  ran  on  to  the  stable. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock,  but  Beulah  was  writing  in  her  own 
room;  and  through  the  open  window  heard  the  thundering 
tramp,  the  rattle  among  the  bricks.  Proctor's  furious  curses, 
and  surmised  that  some  accident  had  happened.  She  sprang  to 
the  window,  saw  the  buggy,  just  as  it  was  wheeled  on,  and 
hoped  nothing  was  hurt.  But  Charon,  who  slept  on  the  por- 
tico, leaped  over  the  paling,  ran  around  the  bricks,  and  barked 
alarmingly.  She  unlocked  the  door,  saw  that  no  one  was  pass- 
ing, and  opening  the  little  gate,  looked  out.  Charon  stood 
watching  a  prostrate  form,  and  she  fearlessly  crossed  the  street 
and  bent  over  the  body.  One  arm  was  crushed  beneath  him; 
the  other  thrown  up  over  the  face.  She  recognized  the  watch 
chain,  which  was  of  a  curious  pattern ;  and,  for  an  instant,  all 
objects  swam  before  her.  She  felt  faint;  her  heart  seemed 
to  grow  icy  and  numb;  but  with  a  great  effort,  she  moved  the 
arm,  and  looked  on  the  face,  gleaming  in  the  moonlight. 
Trembling  like  a  weed  in  a  wintry  blast,  she  knelt  beside  him. 
He  was  insensible,  but  not  dead;  though  it  was  evident  there 
must  have  been  some  severe  contusions  about  the  head.  She 
saw  that  no  time  should  be  lost,  and  running  into  one  of  the 
neighboring  houses,  knocked  violently.  The  noise  of  the  horse 
and  buggy  had  already  aroused  the  inmates,  and  very  soon  the 
motionless  form  was  borne  into  Beulah's  little  cottage,  and 
placed  on  a  couch,  while  a  messenger  was  dispatched  for  Dr. 
Asbury.  Eugene  remained  just  as  they  placed  him ;  and  kneel- 
ing beside  him,  Beulah  held  his  cold  hands  in  hers,  and  watched, 
in  almost  breathless  anxiety,  for  some  return  of  animation. 
She  knew  that  he  was  intoxicated;  that  this,  and  this  only, 
caused  the  accident ;  and  tears  of  shame  and  commiseration 
trickled  down  her  cheeks.  Since  their  parting  interview,  .pre- 
vious to  his  marriage,  they  had  met  but  once,  and  then  in  si- 
lence, beside  Cornelia  in  her  dying  hour.  It  was  little  more 
than  a  year  since  she  had  risked  his  displeasure,  and  remon- 


BEULAH.  131 

strated  with  him  on  his  ruinous  course;  and  that  comparatively 
short  period  had  wrought  painful  changes  in  his  once  noble, 
handsome  face.  She  had  hoped  that  Cornelia's  dying  prayer 
would  save  him;  but  now,  alas,  it  was  too  apparent  that  the 
appeal  had  been  futile.  She  knew  that  his  wife  was  absent, 
and  determined  to  send  for  her  as  soon  as  possible.  The  long 
hour  of  waiting  seemed  an  eternity,  but,  at  last,  Dr.  Asbury 
came,  and  carefully  examined  the  bruised  limbs.  Beulah 
grasped  his  arm. 

"Oh!  will  he  die?" 

"  I  don't  know,  child ;  this  arm  is  badly  fractured,  and  I  am 
afraid  there  is  a  severe  injury  on  the  back  of  the  head.  It 
won't  do  to  move  him  home,  so  send  Hal  in  from  my  buggy, 
to  help  me  put  him  in  bed.  Have  me  some  bandages  at  once, 
Beulah." 

As  they  carried  him  into  Mrs.  Williams's  room,  and  prepared 
to  set  the  fractured  arm,  he  groaned,  and  for  a  moment  strug- 
gled, then  relapsed  into  a  heavy  stupor.  Dr.  Asbury  carefully 
straightened  and  bandaged  the  limb,  and  washed  the  blood  from 
his  temples,  where  a  gash  had  been  inflicted  in  the  fall. 

"  Will  you  go  to  his  wife  at  once,  sir,  and  inform  her  of  his 
condition?"  said  Beulah,  who  stood  by  the  blood-stained  pil- 
low, pale  and  anxious. 

"  Don't  you  know  his  wife  is  not  here  ?  She  has  gone  for  the 
summer.  Wife,  did  I  say?  she  does  not  deserve  the  sacred 
name !  If  he  had  had  a  wife,  he  would  never  have  come  to  this 
ruin  and  disgrace.  It  is  nothing  more  than  I  expected  when 
he  married  her.  I  could  easily  put  her  soul  on  the  end  of  a 
lancet,  and  as  for  heart — she  has  none  at  all !  She  is  a  pretty 
flirt,  fonder  of  admiration  than  of  her  husband.  I  will  write 
by  the  earliest  mail,  informing  Mrs.  Graham  of  the  accident 
and  its  possible  consequences,  and  perhaps  respect  for  the  opin- 
ion of  the  world  may  bring  her  home  to  him.  Beulah,  it  is  a 
difficult  matter  to  believe  that  that  drunken,  stupid  victim  there 
is  Eugene  Graham,  who  promised  to  become  an  honor  to  his 
friends  and  his  name.  Satan  must  have  established  the  first 
distillery;  the  institution  smacks  of  the  infernal!  Child,  keep 
ice  upon  that  head,  will  you,  and  see  that  as  soon  as  possible 
he  takes  a  spoonful  of  the  medicine  I  mixed  just  now.  I  am 
afraid  it  will  be  many  days  before  he  leaves  this  house.  If  he 
lives,  the  only  consolation  is,  that  it  may  be  a  lesson  and  warn- 
ing to  him.  I  will  be  back  in  an  hour  or  so.  As  for  Proctor, 
whom  I  met  limping  home,  it  would  have  been  a  blessing  to 
the  other  young  men  of  the  city,  and  to  society  generally,  if 
he  had  never  crawled  out  of  the  sand  where  he  was  thrown." 

A  little  while  after,  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  heavy  sob, 
and  glancing  up,  Beulah  perceived  the  matron  standing  near  the 
bed,  gazing  at  the  sleeper. 


132  BEULAH. 

"  Oh,  that  he  should  come  to  this !  I  would  ten  thousand 
times  rather  he  had  died  in  his  unstained  boyhood." 

"  If  he  lives,  this  accident  may  be  his  salvation." 

"  God  grant  it  may — God  grant  it  may !  " 

Falling  on  her  knees,  the  aged  woman  put  up  a  prayer  of 
passionate  entreaty,  that  Almighty  God  would  spare  his  life, 
and  save  him  from  a  drunkard's  fate. 

"If  I,  too,  could  pray  for  him,  it  might  ease  my  aching 
heart,"  thought  Beulah,  as  she  listened  to  the  imploring  words 
of  the  matron. 

And  why  not?  Ah!  the  murky  vapors  of  unbelief  shrouded 
the  All-Father  from  her  wandering  soul.  Dawn  looked  in  upon 
two  sorrowing  watchers  beside  that  stupid  slumberer,  and 
showed  that  the  physician's  fears  were  realized ;  a  raging  fever 
had  set  in,  and  this  night  was  but  the  commencement  of  long, 
dreary  vigils.  About  noon,  Beulah  was  crossing  the  hall,  with 
a  bowl  of  ice  in  her  hand,  when  some  one  at  the  door  pro- 
nounced her  name,  and  Proctor  approached  her,  accompanied 
by  Cowdon.  She  had  once  met  the  former  at  Mr.  Graham's, 
and  having  heard  Cornelia  regret  the  miserable  influence  he 
exerted  over  her  brother,  was  prepared  to  treat  him  coldly. 

"  We  have  come  to  see  Graham,  madam,"  said  he,  shrinking 
from  her  sad,  searching  eyes,  yet  assuming  an  air  of  haughty 
indifference. 

"  You  cannot  see  him,  sir." 

"  But,  I  tell  you,  I  must !  I  shall  remove  him  to  his  own 
house,  where  he  can  be  properly  attended  to.  Where  is  he? " 

"  The  physician  particularly  urged  the  necessity  of  keeping 
everything  quiet.  He  shall  not  be  disturbed;  but  as  he  is  un- 
conscious, perhaps  it  will  afford  you  some  gratification  to  be- 
hold the  ruin  you  have  wrought.  Gentlemen,  here  is  your 
victim." 

She  opened  the  door  and  suffered  them  to  stand  on  the  thres- 
hold and  look  at  the  prostrate  form,  with  the  head  enveloped 
in  icy  cloths,  and  the  face  bloated  and  purplish  from  bruises 
and  fever.  Neither  Proctor  nor  his  companion  could  endure 
the  smile  of  withering  contempt  which  curled  her  lips,  as  she 
pointed  to  the  victim  of  their  temptations  and  influence,  and 
with  a  half-suppressed  imprecation,  Proctor  turned  on  his  heel 
and  left  the  house.  Apparently  this  brief  visit  quite  satisfied 
them,  for  it  was  not  repeated.  Days  and  nights  of  unremitted 
watching  ensued;  Eugene  was  wildly  delirious,  now  singing 
snatches  of  drinking  songs  and  waving  his  hands,  as  if  to  his 
guests ;  and  now  bitterly  upbraiding  his  wife  for  her  heartless- 
ness  and  folly.  The  confinement  of  his  fractured  arm  frenzied 
him ;  often  he  struggled  violently  to  free  himself,  fancying  that 
he  was  incarcerated  in  some  horrid  dungeon.  On  the  rnorning 
of  the  fourth  day  after  the  accident,  a  carriage  stopped  at  the 


BEULAH.  133 

cottage  gate,  and,  springing  out,  Mr.  Graham  hurried  into  the 
house.  As  he  entered  the  sickroom,  and  caught  sight  of  the 
tossing  sufferer,  a  groan  escaped  him,  and  he  covered  his  eyes 
an  instant,  as  if  to  shut  out  the  vision.  Eugene  imagined  he 
saw  one  of  the  Heidelberg  professors,  and,  laughing  immoder- 
ately, began  a  rapid  conversation  in  German.  Mr.  Graham 
could  not  conceal  his  emotion,  and,  fearing  its  effect  on  the 
excitable  patient,  Beulah  beckoned  him  aside,  and  warned  him 
of  the  possible  consequences.  He  grasped  her  hand  and  asked 
the  particulars  of  the  occurrence,  which  had  been  mentioned  to 
him  vaguely.  She  told  him  the  account  given  by  Eugene's 
servants  of  the  night's  revel,  and  then  the  denouement  in  front 
of  her  door.  In  conclusion,  she  said,  earnestly: 

"  Where  is  his  wife  ?    Why  is  she  not  here  ? " 

"  She  seemed  to  think  she  could  render  no  assistance ;  and 
fearing  that  all  would  be  over  before  we  could  get  here,  pre- 
ferred my  coming  at  once,  and  writing  to  her  of  his  condition. 
Ah!  she  is  miserably  fitted  for  such  scenes  as  you  must  have 
witnessed."  And  the  gray-haired  man  sighed  heavily. 

"  What !  can  she  bear  to  commit  her  husband  to  other  hands 
at  such  a  crisis  as  this  ?  How  can  she  live  away  from  his  side, 
when  every  hour  may  be  his  last  ?  Oh !  it  is,  indeed,  so  utterly, 
utterly  heartless,  selfish,  callous!  Poor  Eugene!  better  find 
release  from  such  a  union  in  death,  than  go  through  life  bound 
to  a  wife  so  unblushingly  indifferent ! " 

Her  face  was  one  flash  of  scorn  and  indignation,  and  extend- 
ing her  hand  toward  the  restless  invalid,  she  continued,  in  a 
lower  tone: 

"  She  has  deserted  her  sacred  post ;  but  a  truer,  better  friend, 
one  who  has  always  loved  him  as  a  brother,  will  supply 
her  place.  All  that  a  sister's  care  can  do,  assuredly  he  shall 
have." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Miss  Beulah ;  my  family  are  under  last- 
ing obligations  to  you  for  your  generous  attentions  to  that  poor 
boy  of  ours,  and  I " 

"  No.  You  understand  little  of  the  nature  of  our  friendship. 
We  were  orphan  children,  warmly  attached  to  each  other,  before 
you  took  him  to  a  home  of  wealth  and  lavish  indulgence.  Were 
he  my  own  brother,  I  could  not  feel  more  deeply  interested  in 
his  welfare,  and  while  he  requires  care  and  nursing,  I  consider 
it  my  privilege  to  watch  over  and  guard  him.  There  is  Dr.  As- 
bury  in  the  hall;  he  can  tell  you  better  than  I  of  his  probable 
recovery." 

Mr.  Graham  remained  at  the  cottage,  and  having  written  to 
Antoinette  of  the  imminent  danger  in  which  he  found  her 
husband,  urged  her  to  lose  no  time  in  joining  him.  Unluckily, 
he  was  ignorant  of  all  the  information  which  is  so  essential  in 
the  occupation  of  nursing.  He  was  anxious  to  do  everything  in 


134  BEULAH. 

his  power;  but,  like  the  majority  of  persons  on  such  occasions, 
failed  wretchedly  in  his  attempts.  Almost  as  restless  and  nerv- 
ous as  the  sick  man,  he  only  increased  the  difficulties  he 
would  fain  have  remedied,  and  Beulah  finally  prevailed  upon 
him  to  abandon  his  efforts  and  leave  the  room,  where  his  con- 
stant movements  annoyed  and  irritated  the  sufferer.  Eugene 
recognized  no  one,  but  his  eyes  followed  Beulah  continually; 
and  when  his  delirium  was  at  its  height,  only  her  voice  and 
clasp  of  his  hand  could  in  any  degree  soothe  him.  In  his  rav- 
ings, she  noticed  two  constantly  conflicting  emotions;  a  stern 
bitterness  of  feeling  toward  his  wife,  and  an  almost  adoring 
fondness  for  his  infant  child.  Of  the  latter  he  talked  inces- 
santly, and  vowed  that  she,  at  least,  should  love  him.  As  the 
weary  days  crept  by,  Beulah  started  at  every  sound,  fancying 
that  the  wife  had  certainly  come;  but  hour  after  hour  found 
only  Mrs.  Williams  and  the  orphan  guarding  the  deserted  hus- 
band. Gradually  the  fever  abated,  and  a  deathlike  stupor  suc- 
ceeded. Mr.  Graham  stole  about  the  house,  like  a  haunting 
spirit,  miserable  and  useless,  and  in  the  solemn  stillness  of  mid- 
night only  Beulah  sat  by  the  pillow,  where  a  head  now  rested 
motionless  as  that  of  a  corpse.  Mrs.  Williams  was  asleep  on  a 
couch  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  and  in  the  dim,  spectral 
light  of  the  shaded  lamp,  the  watcher  and  her  charge  looked 
unearthly.  Faint  from  constant  vigils,  Beulah  threw  her  arm 
on  the  bed  and  leaned  her  head  upon  it,  keeping  her  eyes  on 
the  colorless  face  before  her.  Who  that  has  watched  over 
friends,  hovering  upon  the  borders  of  the  spirit-land,  needs  to 
be  told  how  dreary  was  the  heart  of  the  solitary  nurse?  And 
to  those  who  have  not  thus  suffered  and  endured,  no  description 
would  adequately  portray  the  desolation  and  gloom. 

The  stars  were  waning  when  Eugene  moved,  threw  up  his 
hand  over  the  pillow,  and,  after  a  moment,  opened  his  eyes. 
Beulah  leaned  forward,  and  he  looked  at  her  fixedly,  as  if  puz- 
zled; then  said,  feebly: 

"Beulah,  is  it  you?" 

A  cry  of  joy  rolled  to  her  lips,  but  she  hushed  it,  and  an- 
swered, tremblingly: 

"  Yes,  Eugene,  it  is  Beulah." 

His  eyes  wandered  about  the  room,  and  then  rested  again  on 
her  countenance,  with  a  confused,  perplexed  expression. 

"  Am  I  at  home?    What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Eugene,  at  home  among  your  best  friends.  Don't  talk 
any  more;  try  to  sleep  again." 

With  a  great  joy  in  her  heart  she  extinguished  the  light,  so 
that  he  could  see  nothing.  After  a  few  moments  he  said, 
slowly : 

"  Beulah,  did  I  dream  I  saw  you  ?  Beulah !  "  She  felt  his 
hand  put  out,  as  if  to  feel  for  her. 


BEULAH.  135 

"No,  I  am  sitting  by  you,  but  will  not  talk  to  you  now. 
You  must  keep  quiet." 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

"  But  where  am  I?    Not  at  home,  I  know." 

She  did  not  reply,  and  he  repeated  the  question  more  ear- 
nestly. 

"  You  are  in  my  house,  Eugene ;  let  that  satisfy  you." 

His  fingers  closed  over  hers  tightly,  and  soon  he  slept. 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  sky  when  he  again  unclosed  his  eyes 
and  found  Dr.  Asbury  feeling  his  pulse.  His  mind  was  still 
bewildered,  and  he  looked  around  him,  wonderingly. 

"  How  do  you  feel,  Graham? "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Feel !  as  if  I  had  been  standing  on  my  head.  What  is  the 
matter  with  me,  doctor?  Have  I  been  sick?  " 

"  Well — yes ;  you  have  not  been  exactly  well,  and  feel  stupid 
after  a  long  nap.  Take  a  spoonful  of  this  nectar  I  have  pre- 
pared for  you.  No  wry  faces,  man !  It  will  clear  your  head !  " 

Eugene  attempted  to  raise  himself,  but  fell  back,  exhausted, 
while,  for  the  first  time,  he  noticed  his  arm  firmly  incased  in 
wood  and  bandages. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  my  arm  ?  Why,  I  can't  move 
it.  I  should " 

"  Oh,  don't  trouble  yourself,  Graham ;  you  injured  it,  and  I 
bound  it  up,  that  is  all.  When  gentlemen  amuse  themselves 
with  such  gymnastic  feats  as  you  performed,  they  must  expect 
a  little  temporary  inconvenience  from  crushed  bones  and  over- 
strained muscles.  Beulah,  mind  my  directions  about  silence 
and  quiet." 

The  doctor  walked  out  to  escape  further  questioning.  Eu- 
gene looked  at  his  useless,  stiffened  arm,  and  then  at  Beulah, 
saying,  anxiously: 

"What  is  the  matter  with  me?" 

"  You  were  thrown  out  of  a  buggy  and  fractured  your  arm 
in  the  fall." 

She  thought  it  best  to  tell  the  truth  at  once. 

Memory  flew  back  to  her  deserted  throne,  and  dimly  the 
events  of  that  evening's  revel  passed  through  his  mind.  A 
flush  of  shame  rose  to  his  temples,  and  turning  his  head  toward 
the  wall,  he  hid  his  face  in  the  pillow.  Then  Beulah  heard  a 
deep,  shuddering  sigh,  and  a  groan  of  remorseful  agony.  After 
a  long  silence,  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  humiliation  that  drew  tears 
to  her  eyes : 

"  How  long  have  I  been  here  ?  " 

She  told  him  the  number  of  days,  and  he  immediately  asked : 

"  Have  I  been  in  any  danger  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  great  danger ;  but  that  has  all  passed  now,  and  if 
you  will  only  be  composed  and  careful,  you  will  soon  be  strong 
again." 


136  BEULAH. 

"  I  heard  my  father  talking  to  you ;  who  else  is  here  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  eager  interest. 

'''  No  one  else,  except  our  ^kind  matron.  Mr.  Graham  came 
as  soon  as  the  letter  reached  him,  and  has  not  left  the  house 
since." 

A  look  of  indescribable  sorrow  and  shame  swept  over  his 
countenance,  as  he  continued,  bitterly : 

"  And  did  Antoinette  know  all  at  once  ?  Stop,  Beulah,  tell 
me  the  miserable  truth.  Did  she  know  all,  and  still  remain 
away  ? " 

"  She  knew  all  that  had  been  communicated  to  Mr.  Graham, 
when  he  came;  and  he  has  written  to  her  every  day.  He  is 
now  writing  to  inform  her  that  you  are  better." 

She  shrank  from  giving  the  pain  she  was  conscious  her  words 
inflicted. 

"  I  deserve  it  all !  Yes,  ingratitude,  indifference  and  deser- 
tion !  If  I  had  died,  she  would  have  heard  it  unmoved.  Oh, 
Cornelia,  Cornelia,  it  is  a  fearful  retribution ;  more  bitter  than 
death !  "  Averting  his  face,  his  whole  frame  trembled  with  ill- 
concealed  emotion. 

"  Eugene,  you  must  compose  yourself.  Remember  you  jeop- 
ardize your  life  by  this  sort  of  excitement." 

"  Why  didn't  you  let  me  die  ?  What  have  I  to  live  for  ?  A 
name  disgraced  and  a  wife  unloving  and  heartless!  What  has 
the  future  but  wretchedness  and  shame  ? " 

"  Not  unless  you  will  it  so.  You  should  want  to  live  to  re- 
trieve your  character,  to  take  an  honorable  position,  which, 
hitherto,  you  have  recklessly  forfeited;  to  make  the  world  re- 
spect you,  your  wife  revere  you,  and  your  child  feel  that  she 
may  be  proud  of  her  father!  Ah,  Eugene,  all  this  the  future 
calls  you  to  do." 

He  looked  up  at  her  as  she  stood  beside  him,  pale,  thin  and 
weary,  and  his  feeble  voice  faltered,  as  he  asked: 

"Beulah,  my  best  friend,  my  sister,  do  you  quite  despise 
me?" 

She  laid  her  hands  softly  on  his,  and,  stooping  down,  pressed 
her  lips  to  his  forehead. 

"  Eugene,  once  I  feared  that  you  had  fallen  even  below  my 
pity;  but  now  I  believe  you  will  redeem  yourself.  I  hope  that, 
thoroughly  reformed,  you  will  command  the  respect  of  all  who 
know  you,  and  realize  the  proud  aspirations  I  once  indulged  for 
you.  That  you  can  do  this  I  feel  assured;  that  you  will,  I  do 
most  sincerely  trust.  I  have  not  yet  lost  faith  in  you,  Eugene. 
I  hope  still." 

She  left  him  to  ponder  in  solitude  the  humiliating  result  of 
his  course  of  dissipation. 


BEULAH.  137 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  hours  of  gradual  convalescence  were  very  trying  to 
Beulah,  now  that  the  sense  of  danger  no  longer  nerved  her  to 
almost  superhuman  endurance  and  exertion.  Mr.  Graham 
waited  until  his  adopted  son  was  able  to  sit  up,  and  then  re- 
turned to  the  watering  place  where  his  wife  remained.  Thus 
the  entire  charge  of  the  invalid  devolved  on  the  tireless  friends 
who  watched  over  him  in  the  hour  of  peril.  Beulah  had  en- 
deavored to  banish  the  sorrow  that  pressed  so  heavily  on  her 
heart,  and  to  dispel  the  gloom  and  despondency  which  seemed 
to  have  taken  possession  of  the  deserted  husband.  She  read, 
talked,  sang  to  him,  and  constantly  strove  to  cheer  him  by 
painting  a  future  in  which  the  past  was  to  be  effectually  can- 
celed. Though  wellnigh  exhausted  by  incessant  care  and  loss  of 
sleep,  she  never  complained  of  weariness,  and  always  forced  a 
smile  of  welcome  to  her  lips  when  the  invalid  had  his  chair 
wheeled  to  her  side,  or  tottered  out  into  the  dining-room  to 
join  her.  One  morning  in  August,  she  sat  on  the  little  gallery 
at  the  rear  of  the  house,  with  a  table  before  her,  engaged  in 
drawing  some  of  the  clusters  of  blue,  white  and  pink  convol- 
vulus which  festooned  the  pillars  and  balustrade.  Eugene  sat 
near  her,  with  his  thin  face  leaned  on  his  hand,  his  thoughts 
evidently  far  removed  from  flowers.  His  arm  was  still  in  a 
sling,  and  he  looked  emaciated  and  dejected.  Mrs.  Williams 
had  been  talking  to  him  cheerfully  about  some  money  matters 
he  had  promised  to  arrange  for  her,  so  soon  as  he  was  well 
enough  to  go  to  his  office;  but,  gathering  up  her  working  ma- 
terials, the  old  lady  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  the  two  sat  for 
some  time  in  silence.  One  of  his  long-drawn  sighs  arrested 
Beulah's  attention,  and  she  said,  kindly : 

"  What  is  the  matter,  brother  mine  ?  Are  you  tired  of  watch- 
ing my  clumsy  fingers  ?  Shall  I  finish  that  essay  of  Macaulay's 
you  were  so  much  interested  in  yesterday,  or  will  you  have  an- 
other of  Bryant's  poems  ? "  She  laid  down  her  pencil,  quite 
ready  to  divert  his  mind  by  reading. 

"  You  know  little  of  what  oppresses  me.  It  is  the  knowl- 
edge of  my-: — ,  of  Antoinette's  indifference,  which  makes  the 
future  so  joyless,  so  desolate.  Beulah,  this  has  caused  my 
ruin.  When  I  stood  by  Cornelia's  coffin,  and  recalled  her  last 
frantic  appeal;  when  I  looked  down  at  her  cold  face,  and  re- 
membered her  devoted  love  for  her  unworthy  brother,  I  vowed 
never  to  touch  wine  again ;  to  absent  myself  from  the  associates 
who  had  led  me  to  dissipation.  Beulah,  I  was  honest,  and  in- 
tended to  reform  from  that  hour.  But  Antoinette's  avowed 
coldness,  or,  to  call  it  by  its  proper  name,  heartless  selfishness 
and  fondness  for  admiration,  first  disgusted  and  then  maddened 
10  i 


138  BEULAH. 

me.  I  would  have  gladly  spent  my  evenings  quietly,  in  our  ele- 
gant home,  but  she  contrived  to  have  it  crowded  with  visitors, 
as  soulless  and  frivolous  as  herself.  I  remonstrated;  she  was 
sneering,  defiant  and  unyielding,  and  assured  me  she  would 
'  amuse '  herself  as  she  thought  proper ;  I  followed  her  example, 
and  went  back  to  the  reckless  companions  who  so  continually 
beset  my  path.  I  was  miserably  deceived  in  Antoinette's  char- 
acter. She  was  very  beautiful,  and  I  was  blind  to  her  mental, 
nay,  I  may  as  well  say  it  at-  once,  her  moral  defects.  I  believed 
she  was  warmly  attached  to  me,  and  I  loved  her  most  devotedly. 
But  no  sooner  were  we  married,  than  I  discovered  my  blind 
rashness.  Cornelia  warned  me,  but  what  man,  fascinated  by  a 
beautiful  girl,  ever  listened  to  counsels  that  opposed  his  heart  ? 
Antoinette  is  too  intensely  selfish  to  love  anything  or  anybody 
but  herself;  she  does  not  even  love  her  child.  Strange  as  it  may 
seem,  she  is  too  entirely  engrossed  by  her  weak  fondness  for  dis- 
play and  admiration,  even  to  caress  her  babe.  Except  at  break- 
fast and  dinner,  we  rarely  meet,  and  then,  unless  company  is 
present  (which  is  generally  the  case),  our  intercourse  is  stud- 
iedly cold.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  am  hopeless  in  view  of  a  life 
passed  with  such  a  companion?  Oh,  that  I  could  blot  out  the 
last  two  years  of  my  existence ! " 

He  groaned,  and  shaded  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  But,  Eugene,  probably  your  reformation  and  altered  course 
will  win  you  your  wife's  love  and  reverence,"  suggested  Beu- 
lah,  anxious  to  offer  some  incentive  to  exertion. 

"  I  know  her  nature  too  well  to  hope  that.  A  woman  who 
prefers  to  dance  and  ride  with  gentlemen,  rather  than  remain 
in  her  luxurious  home,  with  her  babe  and  her  duties,  cannot 
be  won  from  her  mothlike  life.  No,  no !  I  despair  of  happiness 
from  her  society  and  affection,  and  if  at  all,  must  derive  it  from 
other  sources.  My  child  is  the  one  living  blossom  amid  all  my 
withered  hopes;  she  is  the  only  treasure  I  have,  except  your 
friendship.  She  shall  never  blush  for  her  father's  degradation. 
Henceforth,  though  an  unhappy  man,  I  shall  prove  myself  a 
temperate  one.  I  cannot  trust  my  child's  education  to  An- 
toinette, she  is  unworthy  the  sacred  charge;  I  must  fit  myself 
to  form  her  character.  Oh,  Beulah,  if  I  could  make  her  such 
a  woman  as  you  are,  then  I  could,  indeed,  bear  my  lot  patiently ! 
I  named  her  Cornelia,  but  henceforth  she  shall  be  called  Beulah 
also,  in  token  of  her  father's  gratitude  to  his  truest  friend." 

"  No,  Eugene,  call  her  not  after  me,  lest  some  of  my  sorrows 
come  upon  her  young  head.  Oh,  no !  name  her  not  Beulah ;  let 
her  be  called  Cornelia.  I  would  not  have  her  soul  shrouded  as 
mine  has  been."  Beulah  spoke  vehemently,  and,  laying  her  hand 
on  his  arm,  she  added : 

"  Eugene,  to-day  you  will  leave  me,  and  go  back  to  your  own 
house,  to  your  family;  but  before  you  go,  I  ask  you,  if  not  for 


BEULAH.  139 

your  sake,  fov  that  of  your  child,  to  promise  me  solemnly,  that 
you  will  never  again  touch  intoxicating  drinks  of  any  kind. 
Oh,  will  you  promise  ?  Will  you  reform  entirely  ? " 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  and  he  answered,  slowly : 

"  I  promise,  Beulah.  Nay,  my  friend,  I  swear  I  will  abstain 
in  future.  Ah,  I  will  never  disgrace  my  angel  child!  Never, 
so  help  me  Heaven !  " 

The  sound  of  approaching  steps  interrupted  the  conversation, 
and  expecting  to  see  Antoinette  and  her  infant,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Graham,  Beulah  looked  up  quickly  and  perceived 
Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  Does  my  advent  startle  you,  that  you  look  so  pale  and 
breathless?"  said  he,  smiling,  as  he  took  her  hand. 

"  I  am  certainly  very  much  surprised  to  see  you  here,,  sir." 

"  And  I  am  heartily  glad  you  have  come,  Reginald,"  cried  Eu- 
gene, returning  his  friend's  tight  clasp. 

"  I  intended  coming  to  nurse  you,  Graham,  as  soon  as  I  heard 
of  the  accident,  but  my  mother's  illness  prevented  my  leaving 
home.  I  need  not  ask  about  your  arm;  I  see  it  still  requires 
cautious  handling;  but  how  are  you  otherwise?  Regaining 
your  strength,  I  hope  ? " 

"  Yes,  gradually.    I  am  better  than  I  deserve  to  be,  Reginald." 

"  That  remains  to  be  proved  in  future,  Graham.  Come,  get 
well  as  rapidly  as  possible;  I  have  a  plan  to  submit  to  you, 
the  earliest  day  you  are  strong  enough  to  discuss  business 
topics.  Miss  Beulah,  let  me  sharpen  your  pencil." 

He  took  it  from  her,  trimmed  it  carefully,  and  handed  it 
back;  then  drew  her  portfolio  near  him,  and  glanced  over  the 
numerous  unfinished  sketches. 

"  I  have  several  books,  filled  with  European  sketches,  which, 
I  think,  might  afford  you  some  pleasure.  They  were  taken  by 
different  persons ;  and  some  of  the  views  on  the  Rhine,  and  par- 
ticularly some  along  the  southern  shore  of  Spain,  are  unsur- 
passed by  any  I  have  seen.  You  may  receive  them  some  day, 
after  I  return." 

"  Thank  you ;  I  shall  copy  them  with  great  pleasure." 

Half  an  hour  later  a  carriage  dashed  up  to  the  door.  Eugene 
turned  pale,  and  a  sudden  rigidity  seized  his  features.  Beulah 
gave  her  guest  a  quick,  meaning  glance,  and  retreated  to  the 
gallery,  whither  he  instantly  followed  her,  leaving  Eugene  to 
receive  his  wife  without  witnesses.  Leaning  against  one  of  the 
pillars.  Beulah  unfastened  a  wreath  of  blue  convolvulus  which 
Mrs.  Williams  had  twined  in  her  hair  an  hour  before.  The 
delicate  petals  were  withered,  and,  with  a  suppressed  sigh,  she 
threw  them  away.  Mr.  Lindsay  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket, 
and  handed  it  to  her,  saying  briefly : 

"  I  was  commissioned  to  give  you  this,  and,  knowing  the  con- 
tents, hope  a  favorable  answer.'' 


140  BEULAH. 

It  was  from  Clara,  urging  her  to  come  up  trie  following  week 
and  officiate  as  bridesmaid  at  her  wedding.  She  could  return 
home  with  Helen  and  George  Asbury.  Beulah  read  the  letter, 
smiled  sadly,  and  put  it  in  her  pocket. 

"Will  you  go?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  Why,  not  ?  You  need  a  change  of  air,  and  the  trip  would 
benefit  you.  You  do  not  probably  know  how  much  you  have 
altered  in  appearance  since  I  saw  you.  My  uncle  is  com- 
ing out  to  persuade  you  to  go.  Can't  I  succeed  without  his 
aid?" 

"  I  could  not  leave  home  now.  Eugene's  illness  has  prevented 
my  accomplishing  some  necessary  work,  and  as  I  consign  him 
to  other  hands  to-day,  I  must  make  amends  for  my  long  indo- 
lence. Thank  you  for  taking  charge  of  my  letter,  but  I  cannot 
think  of  going." 

He  perceived  that  no  amount  of  persuasion  would  avail,  and 
for  an  instant  a  look  of  annoyance  crossed  his  face.  But  his 
brow  cleared  as  he  said,  with  a  smile : 

"  For  years  I  have  watched  for  your  articles,  and  the  maga- 
zine is  a  constant  companion  of  my  desk.  Sometimes  I  am 
tempted  to  criticise  your  sketches;  perhaps  I  may  do  so  yet, 
and  that  in  no  Boswell  spirit,  either." 

"  Doubtless,  sir,  you  would  find  them  very  vulnerable  to  criti- 
cism, which  nowadays  has  become  a  synonym  for  fault-find- 
ing; at  least  this  carping  proclivity  characterizes  the  class  who 
seem  desirous  only  of  earning  reputation  as  literary  Jeffreys. 
I  am  aware,  sir,  that  I  am  very  vulnerable." 

"  Suppose,  then,  at  the  next  month's  literary  assize  (as  you 
seem  disposed  to  consider  it),  you  find  in  some  of  the  maga- 
zines a  severe  animadversion  upon  the  spirit  of  your  writings? 
Dare  I  do  this  and  still  hope  for  your  friendship  ?  " 

He  watched  her  closely. 

"  Certainly,  sir.  I  am  not  writing  merely  to  see  myself  in 
print,  nor  wholly  for  remuneration  in  dollars  and  cents.  I  am 
earnestly  searching  for  truth,  and  if  in  my  articles  you  dis- 
cover error  and  can  correct  it,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  do  so, 
provided  you  adopt  the  catholic  spirit,  which  should  distinguish 
such  undertakings.  Now,  if  you  merely  intend  to  hold  me  up 
for  ridicule,  as  thoroughly  as  possible,  I  prefer  that  you  let  me 
and  my  articles  rest;  but  a  calm,  dispassionate  criticism  I 
should  not  shrink  from.  I  write  only  what  I  believe,  and  if  I 
am  in  error,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  it  corrected."  * 

"  Miss  Benton,  may  I  venture  to  correct  it  without  having 
recourse ^ to  the  vehicle  of  public  criticism?  Will  you  permit 
me  to  discuss  with  you,  here  in  your  quiet  home,  those  vital 
questions  whose  solution  seems  to  engage  your  every  thought  ?  " 

"When  you  have  nothing.  eJse  to  occupy  you,  and  wish  to 


BEULAH.  141 

while  away  an  hour  in  literary  discussion,  you  will  generally 
find  me  home  during  vacation." 

She  walked  on  and  joined  Eugene  in  the  hall.  Antoinette 
stood  in  the  door,  and  they  merely  exchanged  bows,  while  Mr. 
Graham  grasped  her  hand  and  earnestly  thanked  her  for  the 
many  kindnesses  she  had  rendered  to  his  family.  Beulah  looked 
at  the  composed,  beautiful  face  of  the  young  wife,  and  then  at 
the  thin  form  of  the  husband,  and  said,  hastily: 

"  You  owe  me  no  thanks,  sir ;  the  claims  of  true  friendship 
are  imperative.  In  removing  to  his  own  house  I  trust  Eugene's 
improvement  may  not  be  retarded." 

Antoinette  tripped  down  the  steps,  and,  gathering  the 
flounces  of  her  costly  dress,  seated  herself  in  the  carriage.  Mr. 
Graham  bit  his  lip,  colored,  and,  after  a  cordial  good-by,  joined 
her.  Eugene  smiled  bitterly,  and,  turning  to  Beulah,  took  both 
her  hands  in  his,  saying,  feelingly: 

"  Beulah,  I  leave  your  house  a  wiser,  if  not  less  miserable 
man.  I  am  going  to  atone  for  the  past;  to  prove  to  you  that 
your  faith  in  me  is  not  altogether  unmerited.  If  I  am  saved 
from  ruin  and  disgrace,  I  owe  it  to  you ;  and  to  you  I  shall  look 
for  sympathy  and  encouragement.  To  you,  my  best  friend,  I 
shall  often  come  for  sisterly  aid,  when  clouds  gather  black  and 
stormy  over  my  miserable  home.  God  bless  you,  Beulah!  I 
have  promised  reformation  and  will  keep  my  promise  sacred,  if 
it  costs  me  my  life." 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and,  linking  his  arm  in  Mr. 
Lindsay's,  left  the  house  and  entered  the  carriage,  while  the 
latter  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  slowly  away. 

"  You  look  weary,  child.  You  must  give  yourself  some  rest 
now,"  said  Mrs.  Williams,  wiping  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of 
her  apron. 

"  Rest !  Ah,  yes ;  if  I  could  find  it,"  returned  the  girl,  taking 
the  comb  from  the  back  of  her  head,  and  shaking  down  the 
folds  of  hair  till  it  hung  round  her  like  a  long  mourning  veil. 

"  Suppose  you  try  to  sleep  some,"  suggested  the  matron. 

"I  have  some  work  to  do  first,"  said  she,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  and  wiping  the  dust  from  her  desk. 

Mrs.  Williams  withdrew,  and,  clasping  her  hands  over  her 
forehead,  Beulah  stood  looking  up,  with  dim  eyes,  at  the  cloud- 
less face  that  smiled  down  on  her,  until  she  almost  fancied  the 
lips  parted  to  address  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MR.  LINDSAY'S  visits  grew  more  frequent.  At  first  Beulah 
wondered  what  brought  him  so  often  from  his  distant  home  to 
the  city,  and  supposed  it  must  be  some  legal  business  which 


142  BEULAH. 

engaged  him;  but  gradually  a  different  solution  dawned  upon 
her  mind.  She  rejected  it  as  the  prompting  of  vanity,  but  again 
and  again  the  supposition  recurred.  The  imperturbable  gravity 
and  reposes  of  his  manner  often  disconcerted  her.  It  was  in 
vain  that  she  resorted  to  sarcasm  and  irony ;  he  was  incorrigibly 
unruffled;  in  vain  she  was  cold,  repellent,  haughty;  his  quiet 
smile  remained  unaltered.  His  superior  and  thoroughly  culti- 
vated intellect  and  the  unaffected  simplicity  of  his  manner, 
characterized  by  singular  candor,  rendered  him  an  unusually 
agreeable  companion ;  but  Beulah  rebelled  against  the  unobtru- 
sive, yet  constant  care  with  which  she  fancied  he  watched  her. 
The  seclusion  of  her  life  and  reserve  of  her  nature,  conspired 
to  impart  a  degree  of  abruptness  to  her  own  manners;  and  to 
one  who  understood  her  character  less  than  Keginald  Lindsay, 
there  was  an  unhesitating  sincerity  of  expression,  which  might 
have  been  termed  rudeness.  The  frequency  of  his  visits  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  strangers ;  already  the  busy  tongue  of 
meddling  gossip  had  connected  their  names;  Dr.  Asbury,  too, 
bantered  her  unmercifully  upon  his  nephew's  constant  pil- 
grimages to  the  city;  and  the  result  was  that  Mr.  Lindsay's 
receptions  grew  colder  and  less  flattering  continually.  From 
the  first  she  had  not  encouraged  his  visits,  and  now  she  posi- 
tively discouraged  them  by  every  intimation  which  the  rules  of 
etiquette  justified  her  in  offering.  Yet  she  respected,  esteemed 
and  in  many  things  admired  him,  and  readily  confessed  to  her 
own  heart  that  his  society  often  gave  her  pleasure. 

One  winter  evening  she  sat  alone  by  the  dining-room  fire, 
with  a  newspaper  in  her  hand,  reading  a  notice  of  the  last  num- 
ber of  the  magazine,  in  which  one  of  her  sketches  was  roughly 
handled.  Of  course,  she  was  no  better  pleased  with  the  unflat- 
tering criticism  than  the  majority  of  writers  in  such  cases. 
She  frowned,  bit  her  lips,  and  wondered  who  could  have  written 
it.  The  review  was  communicated,  and  the  paper  had  been  sent 
to  her  by  some  unknown  hand.  Once  more  she  read  the  article, 
and  her  brow  cleared,  while  a  smile  broke  over  her  face.  She 
had  recognized  a  particular  dictum,  and  was  no  longer  puzzled. 
Leaning  her  head  on  her  palm,  she  sat  looking  into  the  fire, 
ruminating  on  the  objections  urged  against  her  piece;  it  was 
the  first  time  she  had  ever  been  unfavorably  criticised,  and  this 
was  sufficient  food  for  thought. 

Mr.  Lindsay  came  in  and  stood  near  her  unobserved.  They 
had  not  met  for  several  weeks,  and  she  was  not  aware  that  he 
was  in  the  city.  Charon,  who  lay  on  the  rug  at  her  feet, 
growled,  and  she  looked  round. 

"  Good-evening,"  said  her  visitor,  extending  his  hand. 

She  did  not  accept  it,  but  merely  inclined  her  head,  saying: 

"  Ah,  how  do  you  do,  sir?  " 

He  laid  a  package  on  the  table,  drew  a  chair  near  the  hearth, 


BEULAH.  143 

without  looking  at  her,  and  calling  to  Charon,  patted  his  huge 
head  kindly. 

"  What  have  you  there,  Miss  Beulah  ?  Merely  a  newspaper ; 
it  seems  to  interest  you  intensely.  May  I  see  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  certainly  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,  for  the  chival- 
rous spirit  in  which  you  indited  your  criticism.  I  was  just 
pondering  it  when  you  entered." 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  and  shook  the  paper  at  him. 

"  I  thought  I  had  feigned  a  style  you  would  not  recognize," 
he  answered,  quite  unconcernedly. 

"  You  succeeded  admirably,  with  the  exception  of  one  pet 
phrase  which  betrayed  you.  Next  time  recollect  that  you  are 
very  partial  to  some  particular  expression,  with  which  I  hap- 
pen to  be  acquainted,  and  avoid  their  introduction." 

"  I  rather  think  I  shall  not  repeat  the  experiment ;  especially 
as  my  arguments  seem  to  have  failed  signally  in  their  design. 
Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  understand  my  review  perfectly  ? " 

He  looked  a  little  curious — she  fancied  disappointed — and  she 
replied,  laughingly: 

"  Oh,  I  think  I  do ;  it  is  not  so  very  abstruse." 

He  leaned  forward,  took  the  paper  from  her,  before  she  was 
aware  of  his  intention,  and  threw  it  into  the  fire. 

She  looked  surprised,  and  he  offered  his  hand  once  more. 

"  Are  we  still  friends  ?  Will  you  shake  hands  with  your  re- 
viewer ? " 

She  unhesitatingly  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  answered : 

"Friendship  is  not  a  gossamer  thread,  to  be  severed  by  a 
stroke  of  the  pen." 

She  endeavored  to  withdraw  her  fingers,  but  he  held  them 
firmly,  while  his  blue  eyes  rested  upon  her  with  an  expression 
she  by  no  means  liked.  Her  black  brows  met  in  a  heavy  frown, 
and  her  lips  parted  angrily;  he  saw  it,  and  instantly  released 
her  hand. 

"  Miss  Beulah,  my  uncle  commissioned  me  to  say  to  you  that 
he  received  a  letter  to-day  from  Dr.  Hartwell.  It  was  written 
during  his  voyage  down  the  Red  Sea,  and  contained  a  long  fare- 
well, as  inland  travel  would  afford  no  facilities  for  writing." 

He  noted  the  tight  clasp  in  which  her  fingers  locked  each 
other,  and  the  livid  paleness  of  her  lips  and  brow,  as  the  long 
lashes  drooped,  and  she  sat  silently  listening.  Charon  laid  his 
head  on  her  knee,  and  looked  up  at  her.  There  was  a  brief 
silence,  and  Mr.  Lindsay  added,  slowly: 

"My  uncle  fears  he  will  never  return;  do  you  cherish  the 
hope?" 

"  Yes,  he  will  come  back,  if  his  life  is  spared.  It  may  be 
many  years,  but  he  will  come;  he  will  come." 

Their  eyes  met;  there  was  a  long,  searching  look  from  Mr. 
Lindsay;  she  did  not  shrink  from  the  scrutiny.  An  expression 


144  BEULAH. 

of  keen  sorrow  swept  over  his  face,  but  he  conquered  his  emo- 
tion, took  the  parcel  he  had  brought,  and,  unwrapping  a  book, 
said  in  his  usual  quiet  tone: 

"  When  I  saw  you  last,  you  were  regretting  your  inability  to 
procure  Sir  William  Hamilton's  '  Philosophy  of  the  Condi- 
tioned,' and  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  bringing  you  my  own 
copy.  Read  it  at  your  leisure;  I  shall  not  need  it  again  soon. 
I  do  not  offer  it  as  a  system  which  will  satisfy  your  mind  by 
solving  all  your  problems;  but  I  do  most  earnestly  commend 
his  '  Philosophy  of  the  Conditioned '  as  the  surest  antidote  to 
the  abstractions  in  which  your  speculation  has  involved  you. 
Are  you  not  weary  of  fruitless,  mocking  speculation  ? "  He 
looked  at  her  anxiously. 

She  raised  her  colorless  face  and  said,  drearily,  as  she  passed 
her  hand  over  her  forehead: 

"Weary?  Ah,  yes!  weary  as  the  lonely  mariner,  tempest- 
tossed  on  some  pathless  ocean,  without  chart  or  compass.  In 
my  sky,  even  the  star  of  hope  is  shrouded.  Weary?  Yes,  in 
body  and  mind." 

"  Then  humble  your  proud  intellect ;  confess  your  ignorance 
and  inability,  and  rest  in  God  and  Christianity." 

She  made  an  impatient  gesture,  and,  turning  away,  he  walked 
up  and  down  the  floor.  For  some  moments  neither  spoke ; 
finally,  he  approached  her,  and  continued: 

"  There  is  strange  significance  in  the  Mosaic  record  of  the 
Fall.  Longing  for  the  fruits  of  knowledge,  whereby  the  mys- 
teries of  God  would  be  revealed,  cost  man  Eden.  The  first  pair 
ate,  knowledge  mocked  them,  and  only  the  curse  remained. 
That  primeval  curse  of  desiring  to  know  all  things  descended  to 
all  posterity,  and  at  this  instant  you  exemplify  its  existence. 
Ah !  you  must  humble  your  intellect,  if  you  would  have  it  ex- 
alted; must  be  willing  to  be  guided  along  unknown  paths  by 
other  light  than  that  of  reason,  if  you  would  be  happy.  Well 
might  Sir  William  Hamilton  exclaim : '  It  is  this  powerful  ten- 
dency of  the  most  vigorous  minds  to  transcend  the  sphere  of 
our  faculties,  which  makes  a  "  learned  ignorance "  the  most 
difficult  acquirement,  perhaps,  indeed,  the  consummation  of 
knowledge.' " 

He  sighed  as  he  uttered  these  words;  she  said  nothing,  and, 
putting  his  hand  gently  upon  hers,  as  they  lay  folded  on  the 
table  beside  her,  he  added,  sadly : 

"  I  had  hoped  that  I  could  aid  you,  but  I  see  my  efforts  are 
useless;  you  will  not  be  guided  nor  influenced  by  others;  are 
determined  to  wander  on  in  ever-deepening  night,  solitary  and 
restless !  God  help  you,  Beulah !  " 

A  shudder  ran  over  her,  but  she  made  no  reply. 

He  took  her  cold  hands  in  his. 

"  And  now  we  part.    Since  the  evening  I  first  saw  you  with 


BEULAH.  145 

your  basket  of  strawberries,  I  have  cherished  the  hope  that  I 
might  one  day  be  more  than  a  friend.  You  have  constantly 
shown  me  that  I  was  nothing  more  to  you;  I  have  seen  it  all 
along,  but  still  I  hoped;  and  notwithstanding  your  coldness,  I 
shall  continue  to  hope.  My  love  is  too  entirely  yours  to  be 
readily  effaced.  I  can  wait  patiently.  Beulah,  you  do  not  love 
me  now;  perhaps  never  can,  but  I  shall  at  least  cling  to  the 
hope.  I  shall  not  come  again;  shall  not  weary  you  with  pro- 
fessions and  attentions.  I  know  your  nature,  and  even  had  I 
the  power,  would  not  persuade  you  to  give  me  your  hand  now. 
But  time  may  change  your  feelings;  on  this  frail  tenure  I  rest 
my  hopes.  Meantime,  should  circumstances  occur  which  de- 
mand the  aid  or  counsel  of  devoted  friendship,  may  I  ask  you 
to  feel  no  hesitancy  in  claiming  any  assistance  I  can  render? 
And,  Beulah,  at  any  instant,  a  line,  a  word  can  recall  me.  The 
separation  will  be  very  painful  to  me,  but  I  cannot  longer  ob- 
trude myself  on  your  presence.  If,  as  I  earnestly  hope,  the 
hour,  however  distant,  should  come,  when  you  desire  to  see  me, 
oh,  Beulah,  how  gladly  will  I  hasten  to  you v 

"  We  can  never  be  more  than  friends ;  never !  "  cried  Beulah. 

"  You  think  so  now,  and  perhaps  I  am  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment; but,  without  your  sanction,  I  shall  hope  it.  Good-by." 
He  pressed  his  lips  to  her  hand  and  walked  away. 

Beulah  heard  the  closing  of  the  little  gate,  and  then,  for  the 
first  time,  his  meaning  flashed  upon  her  mind.  He  believed 
she  loved  her  guardian ;  fancied  that  long  absence  would  oblit- 
erate his  image  from  her  heart,  and  that,  finally,  grown  indif- 
ferent to  one  who  might  never  return,  she  would  give  her  love 
to  him  whose  constancy  merited  it.  Genuine  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing prevented  his  expressing  all  this,  but  she  was  conscious 
now  that  only  this  induced  his  unexpected  course  toward  her- 
self. A  burning  flush  suffused  her  face  as  she  exclaimed: 

"  Oh,  how  unworthy  I  am  of  such  love  as  his !  how  utterly 
undeserving !  " 

Soon  after,  opening1  the  book  he  had  brought  at  the  place 
designated,  she  drew  the  lamp  near  her  and  began  its  perusal. 
Hour  after  hour  glided  away,  and  not  until  the  last  page  was 
concluded  did  she  lay  it  aside.  The  work  contained  very  little 
that  was  new;  the  same  trains  of  thought  had  passed  through 
her  mind  more  than  once  before;  but  here  they  were  far  more 
clearly  and  forcibly  expressed. 

She  drew  her  chair  to  the  window,  threw  up  the  sash  and 
looked  out.  It  was  wintry  midnight,  and  the  sky  blazed  with 
its  undying  watchfires.  This  starry  page  was  the  first  her  child- 
ish intellect  had  puzzled  over.  She  had,  from  early  years,  gazed 
up  into  the  glittering  temple  of  night,  and  asked :  "  Whence 
came  you,  silent  worlds,  floating  in  solemn  grandeur  along  the 
blue,  waveless  ocean  of  space  ?  Since  the  universe  sprang 


146  BEULAH. 

phoenix-like  from  that  dim  chaos,  which  may  have  been  "but 
the  charnel-house  of  dead  worlds,  those  unfading  lights  have 
burned  on,  bright  as  when  they  sang  together  at  the  creation. 
And  I  have  stretched  out  my  arms  helplessly  to  them,  and 
prayed  to  hear  just  once  their  unceasing  chant  of  praise  to  the 
Lord  of  Glory.  Will  they  shine  on  forever?  or  are  they,  indeed, 
God's  light-bearers,  set  to  illumine  the  depths  of  space  and 
blaze  a  path  along  which  the  soul  may  travel  to  its  God?-  Will 
they  one  day  flicker  and  go  out  ? "  To  every  thoughtful  mind, 
these  questions  propound  themselves,  and  Beulah  especially  had 
essayed  to  answer  them.  Science  had  named  the  starry  hosts, 
and  computed  their  movements  with  wonderful  skill;  but  what 
could  it  teach  her  of  their  origin  and  destiny?  Absolutely 
nothing.  And  how  stood  her  investigations  in  the  more  occult 
departments  of  psychology  and  ontology?  An  honest  seeker  of 
truth,  what  had  these  years  of  inquiry  and  speculation  accom- 
plished ?  Let  her  answer  as,  with  face  bowed  on  her  palms,  her 
eyes  roved  over  the  midnight  sky. 

"  Once  I  had  some  principles,  some  truths  clearly  defined,  but 
now  I  know  nothing  distinctly,  believe  nothing.  The  more  I 
read  and  study,  the  more  obscure  seem  the  questions  I  am  toil- 
ing to  answer.  Is  this  increasing  intricacy  the  reward  of  an 
earnestly  inquiring  mind?  Is  this  to  be  the  end  of  all  my 
glorious  aspirations  ?  Have  I  come  to  this  ?  '  Thus  far,  and 
no  farther.'  I  have  stumbled  on  these  boundaries  many  times, 
and  now  must  I  rest  here?  Oh,  is  this  my  recompense?  Can 
this  be  all  ?  All !  "  Smothered  sobs  convulsed  her  frame. 

She  had  long  before  rejected  a  "  revealed  code  "  as  unneces- 
sary; the  next  step  was  to  decipher  nature's  symbols,  and  thus 
grasp  God's  hidden  laws;  but  here  the  old  trouble  arose;  how 
far  was  "  individualism  "  allowable  and  safe  ?  To  reconcile  the 
theories  of  rationalism,  she  felt,  was  indeed  a  herculean  task, 
and  she  groped  on  into  deeper  night.  Now  and  then,  her  hori- 
zon was  bestarred,  and,  in  her  delight,  she  shouted  Eureka! 
But  when  the  telescope  of  her  infallible  reason  was  brought  to 
bear  upon  the  coldly  glittering  points,  they  flickered  and  went 
out.  More  than  once,  a  flaming  comet,  of  German  manufac- 
ture, trailed  in  glory  athwart  her  dazzled  vision;  but  close 
observation  resolved  the  gilded  nebula,  and  the  nucleus  mocked 
her.  Doubt  engendered  doubt;  the  death  of  one  difficulty  was 
the  instant  birth  of  another.  Wave  after  wave  of  skepticism 
surged  over  her  soul,  until  the  image  of  a  great  personal  God 
was  swept  from  its  altar.  But  atheism  never  yet  usurped  the 
sovereignty  of  the  human  mind ;  in  all  ages,  moldering  vestiges 
of  protean  deism  confront  the  giant  specter,  and  every  nation 
under  heaven  has  reared  its  fane  to  the  "unknown  God." 
Beulah  had  striven  to  enthrone  in  her  desecrated  soul,  the  huge, 
dim,  shapeless  phantom  of  pantheism,  and  had  turned  eagerly 


BEULAH.  147 

to  the  system  of  Spinoza.  The  heroic  grandeur  of  the  man's 
life  and  character  had  strangely  fascinated  her;  and  now,  that 
idol  of  a  "  substance,  whose  two  infinite  attributes  were  exten- 
sion and  thought,"  mocked  her;  and  she  hurled  it  from  its 
pedestal,  and  looked  back  wistfully  to  the  pure  faith  of  her 
childhood.  A  Godless  world;  a  Godless  woman.  She  took  up 
the  lamp,  and  retired  to  her  own  room.  On  all  sides,  books 
greeted  her ;  here  was  the  varied  lore  of  dead  centuries ;  here  she 
had  held  communion  with  the  great  souls  entombed  in  these 
dusty  pages.  Here,  wrestling  alone  with  those  grim  puzzles, 
she  had  read  out  the  vexed  and  vexing  questions,  in  this  debat- 
ing club  of  the  moldering  dead,  and  endeavored  to  make  them 
solve  them.  These  well-worn  volumes,  with  close  "  margina- 
lias,"  echoed  her  inquiries,  but  answered  them  not  to  her  satis- 
faction. Was  her  life  to  be  thus  passed  in  feverish  toil,  and 
ended  as  by  a  leap  out  into  a  black,  shoreless  abyss?  Like  a 
spent  child,  she  threw  her  arms  on  the  mantelpiece  and  wept 
uncontrollably,  murmuring : 

"  Oh,  better  die  now,  than  live  as  I  have  lived,  in  perpetual 
strugglings!  What  is  life  worth  without  peace  of  mind,  with- 
out hope ;  and  what  hope  have  I  ?  Diamonded  webs  of  sophistry 
can  no  longer  entangle ;  like  Noah's  dove,  my  soul  has  fluttered 
among  them,  striving  in  vain  for  a  sure  hold  to  perch  upon; 
but  unlike  it,  I  have  no  ark  to  flee  to.  Weary  and  almost  hope- 
less, I  would  fain  believe  that  this  world  is  indeed  as  a  deluge, 
and  in  it  there  is  no  ark  of  refuge  but  the  Bible.  It  is  trjue,  I 
did  not  see  this  soul's  ark  constructed;  I  know  nothing  of  the 
machinery  employed,  and  no  more  than  Noah's  dove  can  I  ex- 
plore and  fully  understand  its  secret  chambers;  yet,  all  untu- 
tored, the  exhausted  bird  sought  safety  in  the  incomprehensible, 
and  was  saved.  As  to  the  mysteries  of  revelation  and  inspira- 
tion, why,  I  meet  mysteries,  turn  which  way  I  will.  Man, 
earth,  time,  eternity,  God,  are  all  inscrutable  mysteries.  My 
own  soul  is  a  mystery  unto  itself,  and  so  long  as  I  am  impotent 
to  fathom  its  depths,  how  shall  I  hope  to  unfold  the  secrets  of 
the  universe  ? " 

She  had  rejected  Christian  theism,  because  she  could  not 
understand  how  God  had  created  the  universe  out  of  nothing. 
True,  "with  God  all  things  are  possible,"  but  she  could  not 
understand  this  creation  out  of  nothing,  and  therefore  would 
not  believe  it.  Yet  (oh,  inconstancy  of  human  reasoning!) 
she  had  believed  that  the  universe  created  laws:  that  matter 
gradually  created  mind.  This  was  the  inevitable  result  of  pan- 
theism, for,  according  to  geology,  there  was  a  primeval  period, 
when  neither  vegetable  nor  animal  life  existed ;  when  the  earth 
was  a  huge  mass  of  inorganic  matter.  Of  two  incomprehensi- 
bilities, which  was  the  more  plausible?  To-night  this  question 
recurred  to  her  mind  with  irresistible  force,  and  as  her  eyes 


148  BEULAH. 

wandered  over  the  volumes  she  had  so  long  consulted,  she  ex- 
claimed: 

"  Oh,  philosophy !  thou  hast  mocked  my  hungry  soul ;  thy 
gilded  fruits  have  crumbled  to  ashes  in  my  grasp.  In  lieu  of 
the  holy  faith  of  my  girlhood,  thou  hast  given  me  but  dim, 
doubtful  conjecture,  cold  metaphysical  abstractions,  intangible 
shadows,  that  flit  along  my  path,  and  lure  me  on  to  deeper 
morasses.  Oh,  what  is  the  shadow  of  death,  in  comparison  with 
the  starless  night  which  has  fallen  upon  me,  even  in  the  morn- 
ing of  my  life !  My  God,  save  me !  Give  me  light :  of  myself 
I  can  know  nothing!" 

Her  proud  intellect  was  humbled,  and  falling  on  her  knees, 
for  the  first  time  in  many  months,  a  sobbing  prayer  went  up 
to  the  throne  of  the  living  God;  while  the  vast  clockwork  of 
stars  looked  in  on  a  pale  brow  and  lips,  where  heavy  drops  of 
moisture  glistened. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

FOUR  years  had  passed  since  Eugene  Graham  returned  to  his 
home,  after  his  severe  illness,  and  now,  as  he  sits  alone  in  his 
library,  with  a  bundle  of  legal  documents  before  him,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  perceive  that  his  promise  has  been  held  sacred. 
Through  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Lindsay,  and  the  persuasions  of 
Beulah,  he  had  closely  applied  himself  to  the  study  of  law  im- 
mediately after  his  recovery.  Hopeless  of  happiness  in  his 
home,  ambition  became  the  ruling  passion,  and  scourged  him 
on  to  unceasing  exertion.  The  aspirations  of  his  boyhood  re- 
vived; the  memory  of  his  humiliating  course  goaded  him  to 
cover  the  past  with  the  garlands  of  fame ;  and  consciousness  of 
unusual  talents  assured  him  of  final  success.  Mr.  Graham  no 
longer  opposed  the  design,  as  formerly,  but  facilitated  its  execu- 
tion to  the  utmost  of  his  ability.  Under  these  circumstances, 
it  was  not  surprising  that  earnest  application  soon  procured 
his  admission  to  the  bar.  His  efforts  were  redoubled,  and,  ere 
long,  his  eloquence  obtained  for  him  a  connection  with  one  of 
the  most  prominent  members  of  the  profession.  The  world 
wondered  at  this  complete  revolution;  many  doubted  its  con- 
tinuance; but,  step  by  step,  he  climbed  the  ladder  to  eminence, 
and  merited  the  applause  which  the  public  lavished  upon  him. 
Success  only  inflamed  his  ambition,  and  it  became  evident  he 
aimed  at  political  renown.  Nature  had  fitted  him  for  the  polit- 
ical arena,  had  endowed  him  with  oratorical  powers  of  no 
ordinary  stamp,  and,  though  long  dormant,  they  were  not  im- 
paired by  his  inertia.  It  was  fortunate  for  him  that  an  exciting 
presidential  canvass  afforded  numerous  opportunities  for  the 
development  of  these,  and  at  its  close  he  found  himself  pos- 


BEULAE.  149 

sessed  of  an  enviable  reputation.  To  a  certain  extent,  his  wife 
was  elated  with  his  success ;  she  was  proud  of  his  acknowledged 
talent,  but  her  selfish  nature  was  utterly  incapable  of  the  ten- 
derness and  the  sincere  affection  he  demanded.  Their  aliena- 
tion was  complete.  No  bickerings  disturbed  the  serene  atmos- 
phere of  their  home,  because  mutual  indifference  precluded  the 
necessity.  Mrs.  Graham  gave  parties,  and  attended  them;  rode, 
danced,  spent  her  summers  at  fashionable  watering  places,  and 
her  winters  in  a  round  of  folly  and  dissipation,  while  her  hus- 
band pursued  his  profession,  careless  of  her  movements,  rarely 
in  her  company.  In  the  lady's  conduct,  the  circle  in  which  she 
moved  saw  nothing  reprehensible.  She  dressed  superbly,  gave 
elegant  entertainments,  and  was,  par  excellence,  the  leader  of 
~bon-ton.  True,  she  was  quite  as  much  of  a  belle  as  any  young 
lady  in  the  city,  and  received  the  attentions  and  flattery  of  gen- 
tlemen as  unreservedly,  nay,  delightedly,  as  though  she  had  no 
neglected  husband  and  child  at  home,  who  had  claims  upon 
her;  but  this  sort  of  conjugal  indifference  was  in  vogue,  and 
as  she  frowned  upon,  or  smiled  on,  some  family  laboriously 
toiling  to  reach  her  circle,  her  "clique"  blindly  followed  her 
example,  and  humored  her  whims.  As  regarded  her  deportment 
toward  her  husband,  one  alteration  was  perceptible;  she  re- 
spected— almost  feared  him;  shrank  from  his  presence,  and 
generally  contrived  to  fill  the  house  with  company  when  she 
was,  for  short  intervals,  at  home.  He  ceased  to  upbraid,  or  even 
remonstrate;  his  days  were  spent  in  the  courtroom  or  his  office, 
and  his  evenings  in  his  library.  She  dressed  as  extravagantly 
as  she  chose ;  he  made  no  comments,  paid  her  accounts,  and  grew 
more  taciturn  and  abstracted  day  by  day. 

Eugene  Graham's  love  and  tenderness  were  all  bestowed  on 
his  daughter,  a  beautiful  child,  not  yet  five  years  old;  the  sole 
companion  of  the  hours  spent  at  home,  she  became  his  idol. 

It  was  one  sunny  afternoon  that  he  finished  copying  some 
papers,  necessary  in  a  case  to  be  defended  the  following  day. 
The  sunshine,  stealing  through  the  shutters,  fell  on  his  lofty 
brow,  pale  from  continued  study;  his  whole  countenance  be- 
spoke a  nature  saddened,  vexed,  but  resolute,  and,  leaning  for- 
ward, he  touched  the  bellrope.  As  he  did  so,  there  came  quick 
footsteps  pattering  along  the  hall;  the  door  was  pushed  open, 
and  a  little  fairy  form,  with  a  head  of  rich  auburn  ringlets, 
peeped  in  cautiously,  while  a  sweet,  childish  voice  asked  eagerly : 

"  May  I  come  now,  father  ?  Have  you  done  writing  ?  I  won't 
make  a  noise;  indeed  I  won't." 

The  gloom  fled  from  his  face,  and  he  held  out  his  arms  to  her, 
saying : 

"I  have  done  writing;  you  may  come  now,  my  darling." 

She  sprang  into  his  lap,  and  threw  her  little,  snowy  arms 
about  his  neck,  kissing  him  rapturously,  and  passing  her  fragile 


150  BEULAH. 

fingers  through  his  hair.  She  resembled  him  closely,  having  the 
same  classical  contour,  and  large,  soft,  dark  eyes.  He  returned 
her  caresses  with  an  expression  of  almost  adoring  fondness, 
stroking  her  curls  with  a  light,  gentle  touch.  The  evening  was 
warm,  and  large  drops  stood  on  his  forehead.  She  noticed  it, 
and,  standing  on  his  knee,  took  the  corner  of  her  tiny  em- 
broidered apron  and  wiped  away  the  moisture,  kissing  the  fore- 
head as  she  did  so.  A  servant  looked  in  at  the  door. 

"Did  you  ring,  sir?" 

"  Yes ;  tell  Philip  I  want  my  huggy." 

"  Oh,  you  are  going  to  ride  ?  Can  I  go  ?  And  will  we  go  to 
see  Aunt  Beulah — will  we? "  She  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  there,  Cornelia  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  always  like  to  go  there.  I  love  her,  she  is  so 
good !  Let's  go  to  see  her,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  you  shall  go  with  me,  my  darling." 

He  bent  down  to  kiss  her  coral  lips,  and  just  then  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham swept  into  the  room.  She  was  attired  in  an  elegant  riding 
habit  of  dark  purple,  while  a  velvet  hat  of  the  same  color,  with 
a  long,  drooping  plume,  shaded  her  face.  Her  hands  were  in- 
cased in  delicate  kid  gauntlets,  which  fitted  with  perfect  exact- 
ness. She  was  a  beautiful  woman,  and  the  costume  heightened 
her  loveliness.  She  started  slightly  on  perceiving  her  husband, 
and  said,  hastily: 

"  I  thought  you  were  at  your  office.  Cornelia,  what  on  earth 
have  you  done  with  my  riding  whip,  you  mischievous  little 
wretch?  You  lost  it  once  before.  Go  find  it;  I  am  waiting 
for  it.  Go  this  instant!" 

"  I  don't  know  where  it  is,"  returned  the  child,  making  no 
effort  to  leave  her  father's  arms. 

Eugene  glanced  up  at  his  wife;  his  eyes  wandered  over  her 
becoming  and  beautiful  dress,  then  went  back  to  the  sunny 
face  of  his  child. 

An  angry  flush  dyed  Antoinette's  cheek,  as  she  observed  her 
daughter's  indifference. 

"  Where  is  my  whip,  I  say?  Flora  saw  you  with  it  yesterday, 
whipping  that  hobby-horse.  I  told  you  to  keep  your  hands  off 
of  it,  didn't  I?  If  you  dan't  go  and  find  it  quick,  I'll  box  you 
soundly,  you  meddlesome  little  brat !  " 

"  I  haven't  had  it  since  you  told  me  I  shouldn't  play  with  it. 
Flora  tells  a  story,"  answered  Cornelia,  sobbing. 

"  You  did  have  it ! "  cried  the  angry  mother,  shaking  her 
hand  threateningly. 

"Did  you  see  her  with  it?"  asked  Eugene,  rising,  with  the 
child  in  his  arms. 

"  I  know  she  had  it !  " 

"  Did  you  see  her  with  it,  I  asked  you." 

"  No,  but  Flora  did,  and  that  is  all  the  same ;  besides,  I " 


BEULAH.  151 

"  Here  is  the  whip,  ma'am.  I  found  it  last  week  in  the  hall, 
behind  a  chair,  and  put  it  in  the  cane  stand.  The  last  time  you 
went  to  ride  you  put  it  and  your. gloves  on  a  chair  in  the  hall, 
and  went  into  the  parlor  to  see  some  company.  Flora  picked 
up  the  gloves  and  carried  them  upstairs,  but  didn't  see  the 
whip." 

John,  the  dining-room  servant,  handed  her  a  small  whip,  with 
mother-of-pearl  handle,  inlaid  with  gold. 

"It  is  no  such  thing!  "  cried  Mrs.  Graham,  gathering  up  the 
folds  of  her  habit,  and  coloring  with  vexation. 

John  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  retired,  and  his  mistress 
sailed  out  to  the  front  door,  where  her  horse  and  her  escort 
awaited  her. 

"  Eun  and  get  your  hat  and  cape,  Cornelia ;  I  see  the  buggy 
coming  round  the  corner." 

Eugene  wiped  away  the  teardrops  glittering  on  her  rosy 
cheeks,  and  she  sprang  off  to  obey  him ;  while  in  the  interim  he 
sent  for  Flora  and  gave  her  to  understand  that  he  would  allow 
no  repetition  of  the  deception  he  had  accidentally  discovered. 
The  maid  retired,  highly  incensed,  of  course,  and  resolved  to 
wreak  vengeance  on  both  John  and  Cornelia ;  and  Eugene  took 
his  seat  in  the  buggy  in  no  particularly  amiable  mood.  They 
found  Beulah  in  her  little  flower  garden,  pruning  some  lux- 
uriant geraniums.  She  threw  down  her  knife  and  hastened  to 
meet  them,  and  all  three  sat  down  on  the  steps. 

Four  years  had  brought  sorrow  to  that  cottage  home;  had 
hushed  the  kind  accents  of  the  matron ;  stilled  the  true  heart 
that  throbbed  so  tenderly  for  her  orphan  charge,  and  had  seen 
her  laid  to  rest  in  a  warm,  grassy  slope  of  the  cemetery.  She 
died  peaceably  three  months  before  the  day  of  which  I  write; 
died  exhorting  Eugene  and  Beulah  so  to  pass  the  season  of 
probation  that  they  might  be  reunited  beyond  the  grave.  In 
life  she  had  humbly  exemplified  the  teachings  of  our  Saviour, 
and  her  death  was  a  triumphant  attestation  of  the  joy  and  hope 
which  only  the  Christian  religion  can  afford  in  the  final  hour. 

To  Beulah  the  blow  was  peculiarly  severe,  and  never  had  the 
sense  of  her  orphanage  been  more  painfully  acute  than  when 
she  returned  from  the  funeral  to  her  lonely  home.  But  to  sor- 
row her  nature  was  inured;  she  had  learned  to  bear  grief,  and 
only  her  mourning  dress  and  subdued  manner  told  how  deeply* 
she  felt  this  trial.  Now  she  took  Cornelia  in  her  arms  and 
kissed  her  fondly,  while  the  child  returned  her  caresses  with  a 
warmth  which  proved  how  sincerely  she  loved  her. 

"  May  I  have  some  flowers,  auntie  ? "  cried  she,  patting  Beu- 
lah's  pale  cheek  with  her  plump,  dimpled  hands. 

"  Yes,  just  as  many  as  you  can  carry  home.    Go  gather  some." 

She  sprang  off,  and  the  two  sat  watching  the  flutter  of  her 
white  dress  among  the  flower  beds.  She  piled  her  little  apron 


152  BEULAH. 

as  full  as  possible,  and  came  back  panting  and  delighted. 
Beulah  looked  down  at  the  beautiful,  beaming  face,  and,  twin- 
ing one  of  the  silky  curls  over  her  finger,  said,  musingly: 

"Eugene,  she  always  reminds  me  of  Lilly.  Do  you  see  the 
resemblance  ? " 

"  Not  in  her  features ;  in  size  and  gay  heedlessness  of  manner 
she  is  like  Lilly,  as  I  saw  her  last." 

"  Yes,  Lilly's  eyes  were  blue,  and  your  child's  are  dark,  like 
your  own ;  but  she  never  comes  up  and  puts  her  arms  round  my 
neck  without  recalling  bygone  years.  I  could  shut  my  eyes, 
and  fancy  my  lost  darling  was  once  more  mine.  Ah !  how  care- 
fully memory  gathers  up  the  golden  links  of  childhood,  and 
weaves  the  chain  that  binds  our  hearts  to  the  olden  time! 
Sometimes  I  think  I  am  only  dreaming,  and  shall  wake  to  a 
happy  reality.  If  I  could  have  Lilly  back,  oh,  what  a  sunshine 
it  would  shed  over  my  heart  and  life!  But  this  may  not  be; 
and  I  can  only  love  Cornelia  instead." 

Her  long,  black  lashes  were  weighed  down  with  unshed  tears, 
and  there  was  a  touching  sadness  in  her  low  voice.  Cornelia 
stood  by  her  side,  busily  engaged  in  dressing  Beulah's  hair  with 
some  of  the  roses  and  scarlet  geraniums  she  had  gathered.  She 
noticed  the  unusual  melancholy  written  in  the  quiet  face,  and 
said,  impatiently: 

"  With  all  my  flowers,  you  won't  look  gay !  It  must  be  this 
black  dress.  Don't  wear  such  ugly,  dark  things:  I  wish  you 
wouldn't.  I  want  to  see  you  look  beautiful,  like  mother." 

"  Cornelia,  go  and  break  that  cluster  of  yellow  berries  yon- 
der," said  her  father ;  and  when  she  had  left  them,  he  turned  to 
his  companion  and  asked : 

"  Beulah,  have  you  reflected  on  what  I  said  the  last  time  I 
saw  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  Eugene." 

"With  what  result?" 

"  My  former  decision  is  only  confirmed,  the  more  I  ponder 
the  subject." 

"  You  have  seen  nothing  of  Reginald,  then  ?  He  was  here,  on 
some  legal  business,  last  week." 

"No;  he  has  been  in  the  city  several  times  during  the  last 
four  years,  but  never  comes  here;  and  except  that  one  letter, 
owhich  I  did  not  answer,  I  have  heard  nothing  from  him.  I 
doubt  whether  we  ever  meet  again." 

"  You  are  a  strange  woman !  Such  devotion  as  his  would 
have  won  any  other  being.  He  is  as  much  attached  to  you  now 
as  on  the  day  he  first  offered  you  his  hand.  Upon  my  word, 
your  obstinacy  provokes  me.  He  is  the  noblest  man  I  ever 
knew.  Everything  that  I  should  suppose  a  woman  of  your  na- 
ture would  admire ;  and  yet,  year  after  year,  you  remain  appar- 
ently as  indifferent  as  ever." 


BEULAH.  153 

"  And  it  \vere  a  miserable  return  for  such  unmerited  love  to 
marry  him  merely  from  gratitude.  I  do  admire  him,  but  can- 
not marry  him.  I  told  him  so  four  years  ago." 

"  But  why  did  you  not  at  least  answer  his  letter  ?  " 

"  Because  his  acceptance  was  made  the  condition  of  an  an- 
swer; a  negative  one  was  not  expected,  and  I  had  no  other  to 
give." 

"Pardon  me,  Beulah;  but  why  do  you  not  love  him?" 

"  A  strange  question,  truly.  My  heart  is  not  the  tool  of  my 
will." 

"  Beulah,  do  you  intend  to  spend  your  life  solitary  and  joy- 
less, cut  off,  as  you  are  here,  from  society,  and  dependent  on 
books  and  music  for  sympathy  ?  Why  will  you  not  marry  Regi- 
nald, and  make  his  home  happy?  " 

"  Eugene,  I  have  told  you  before  that  I  could  not  accept  him, 
and  told  you  why.  Let  the  subject  drop;  it  is  an  unpleasant 
one  to  me.  I  am  happier  here  than  I  could  possibly  be  any- 
where else.  Think  you  I  would  marry  merely  for  an  elegant 
home  and  an  intellectual  companion?  Never!  I  will  live  and 
die  here  in  this  little  cottage,  rather  than  quit  it  with  such 
motives.  You  are  mistaken  in  supposing  that  Mr.  Lindsay  is 
still  attached  to  me.  It  has  been  nearly  two  years  since  he 
wrote  that  letter,  and  from  Georgia  I  hear  that  the  world  be- 
lieves he  is  soon  to  marry  a  lady  residing  somewhere  near  him. 
I  think  it  more  than  probable  the  report  is  true,  and  hope  most 
sincerely  it  may  be  so.  Now,  Eugene,  don't  mention  the  sub- 
ject again,  will  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  generally  believed  that  he  will  be  elected  to  Congress ; 
next  month  will  decide  it.  The  chances  are  all  in  his  favor," 
persisted  Eugene. 

"Yes;  so  I  judged  from  the  papers,"  said  she,  coolly,  and 
then  added:  "And  one  day  I  hope  to  see  you,  or  rather  hear 
of  you,  in  Washington  by  his  side.  I  believe  I  shall  be  gratified ; 
and,  oh,  Eugene,  what  a  proud  moment  it  will  be  to  me !  How 
I  shall  rejoice  in  your  merited  eminence." 

Her  face  kindled  as  she  spoke,  but  the  shadows  deepened  in 
his  countenance  as  he  answered  moodily : 

"Perhaps  I  may,  but  fame  and  position  cannot  lighten  a 
loaded  heart,  or  kindle  the  sacred  flame  of  love  in  a  dreary 
home.  When  a  man  blindly  wrecks  his  happiness  on  the  thres- 
hold of  life  by  a  fatal  marriage,  no  after  exertion  can  atone  or 
rectify  the  one  mistake." 

"  Hush !  she  will  hear  you,"  said  Beulah,  pointing  to  the  little 
girl,  who  was  slowly  approaching  them. 

A  bitter  smile  parted  his  lips. 

"  She  is  my  all ;  yet  precious  as  she  is  to  my  sad  heart,  I 
would  gladly  lay  her  in  her  grave  to-morrow  sooner  than  see 
her  live  to  marry  an  uncongenial  spirit,  or  know  that  her  ra- 
il i 


154  BEULAH. 

diant  face  was  clouded  with  sorrow,  like  mine.  God  grant  that 
her  father's  wretched  lot  may  warn  her  of  the  quicksands  which 
nearly  ingulfed  him."  He  took  the  child  in  his  arms,  as  if  to 
shield  her  from  some  impending  danger,  and  said,  hurriedly : 

"  Are  you  ready  to  go  home  ?  " 

"  Is  it  so  very  late  ?  " 

"  It  is  time  we  were  going  back,  I  think." 

Beulah  tied  on  the  hat  and  cape,  which  had  been  thrown 
aside,  and  saw  them  ride  away. 

There,  in  the  golden  twilight,  she  mused  on  the  changes  time 
bore  on  its  swift  chariot.  The  gorgeous  dreamings  of  her  girl- 
hood had  faded  like  the  summer  clouds  above  her  to  the  somber 
hue  of  reality.  From  the  hour  when  her  father  (a  poor  artist, 
toiling  over  canvas  to  feed  his  children)  had,  in  dying  accents, 
committed  the  two  to  God's  care,  she  only  remembered  sorrow 
up  to  the  time  that  Dr.  Hartwell  took  her  to  his  home.  Her 
life  there  was  the  one  bright  oasis  in  her  desert  past.  Then  she 
left  it  a  woman,  and  began  the  long  struggle  with  poverty  and 
trials  over  again.  In  addition,  skepticism  threw  its  icy  shadow 
over  her.  She  had  toiled  in  the  cavernous  mines  of  metaphysics 
hopelessly;  and  finally  returning  to  the  holy  religion  of  Jesus 
Christ,  her  weary  spirit  found  rest.  Ah,  that  rest  which  only 
the  exhausted  wanderer  through  the  burning  wastes  of  specula- 
tion can  truly  comprehend  and  appreciate.  She  had  been  ambi- 
tious, and  labored  to  obtain  distinction  as  a  writer;  and  this, 
under  various  fictitious  signatures,  was  hers.  She  still  studied 
and  wrote,  but  with  another  aim,  now,  than  mere  desire  of  lit- 
erary fame;  wrote  to  warn  others  of  the  snares  in  which  she 
had  so  long  been  entangled,  and  to  point  young  seekers  after 
truth  to  the  only  sure  fountain.  She  was  very  lonely,  but  not 
unhappy.  Georgia  and  Helen  were  both  happily  married,  and 
she  saw  them  very  rarely ;  but  their  parents  were  still  her  coun- 
selors and  friends.  At  Mrs.  Williams's  death,  they  had  urged 
her  to  remove  to  their  house,  but  she  preferred  remaining  at 
the  little  cottage,  at  least  until  the  expiration  of  the  year.  She 
still  kept  her  place  in  the  schoolroom ;  not  now  as  assistant,  but 
as  principal  in  that  department,  and  the  increased  salary  ren- 
dered rigid  economy  and  music  lessons  no  longer  necessary. 
Her  intense  love  of  beauty,  whether  found  in  nature  or  art,  was 
a  constant  source  of  pleasure;  books,  music,  painting,  flowers, 
all  contributed  largely  to  her  happiness.  The  grim  puzzles  of 
philosophy  no  longer  perplexed  her  mind ;  sometimes  they  thrust 
themselves  before  her,  threatening  as  the  sphinx  of  old ;  but  she 
knew  that  here'  they  were  insolvable;  that  at  least  her  reason 
was  no  cedipus,  and  a  genuine  philosophy  induced  her  to  put 
them  aside;  and  anchoring  her  hopes  of  God  and  eternity  in 
the  religion  of  Christ,  she  drew  from  the  beautiful  world  in 
which  she  lived  much  pure  enjoyment.  Once  she  had  worshiped 


BEULAH.  155 

the  universe ;  now  she  looked  beyond  the  wonderful  temple  whose 
architecture,  from  its  lowest  foundations  of  rock  to  its  starry 
dome  of  sky,  proclaimed  the  God  of  revelation ;  and  loving  its 
beauty  and  grandeur,  felt  that  it  was  but  a  home  for  a  season, 
where  the  soul  could  be  fitted  for  yet  more  perfect  dwelling 
places.  Her  face  reflected  the  change  which  a  calm  reliance  on 
God  had  wrought  in  her  feelings.  The  restless,  anxious  expres- 
sion had  given  place  to  quiet.  The  eyes  had  lost  their  strained, 
troubled  look;  the  brow  was  unruffled,  the  face  serene.  Serene, 
reader,  but  not  happy  and  sparkling  as  it  might  have  been.  All 
the  shadows  were  not  yet  banished  from  her  heart;  there  was 
one  spectral  form  which  thrust  itself  continually  before  her, 
and  kept  her  cheek  pale  and  rendered  her  lip  at  times  unsteady. 
She  had  struggled  bravely  against  this  one  remaining  sorrow; 
but,  as  time  rolled  on,  its  power  and  influence  only  increased. 
Even  now,  in  this  quiet  hour,  when  a  holy  hush  had  fallen  on 
all  nature,  and  twilight  wrapped  its  soft,  purple  veil  around  her, 
this  haunting  memory  came  to  stir  the  depths  of  her  heart. 
Charon  walked  slowly  up  the  steps,  and  laying  down  at  her  feet, 
nestled  his  head  against  her.  Then,  fancy  painted  a  dreary 
picture,  which 

"  Seemed  all  dark  and  red — a  tract  of  sand, 

And  some  one  pacing  there  alone, 
Who  paced  forever  in  a  glimmering  land, 
Lit  with  a  low,  large  moon." 

It  was  the  thought  of  a  lonely  man,  wandering  without  aim 
or  goal  in  far  distant  deserts;  away  from  home  and  friends; 
joyless,  hopeless.  One  who  was  dearer  to  her  than  all  on  earth 
beside;  who  had  left  her  in  anger,  and  upon  whose  loved  face 
she  might  look  no  more.  For  three  years  no  tidings  had  come 
of  his  wanderings ;  none  knew  his  fate ;  and,  perhaps,  even  then 
his  proud  head  lay  low  beneath  the  palms  of  the  Orient,  or  was 
pillowed  on  the  coral  crags  of  distant  seas.  This  thought  was 
one  she  was  unable  to  endure ;  her  features  quivered,  her  hands 
grasped  each  other  in  a  paroxysm  of  dread  apprehension,  and 
while  a  deep  groan  burst  from  her  lips,  she  bowed  her  face  on 
the  head  of  his  last  charge,  his  parting  gift.  The  consciousness 
of  his  unbelief  tortured  her.  Even  in  eternity,  they  might  meet 
no  more;  and  this  fear  cost  her  hours  of  agony,  such  as  no  other 
trial  had  ever  inflicted.  From  the  moment  of  her  return  to  the 
Bible  and  to  prayer  this  struggle  began,  and  for  three  years  she 
had  knelt,  morning  and  evening,  and  entreated  Almighty  God 
to  shield  and  guide  the  wanderer;  to  scatter  the  mists  of  unbe- 
lief which  shrouded  his  mind.  Constantly  her  prayers  went  up, 
mingled  with  tears  and  sobs,  and  as  weary  months  wore  on  the 
petitions  grew  more  impassioned.  Her  anxiety  increased  daily, 


156  BEULAH. 

and  finally  it  became  the  one  intense,  absorbing  wish  of  her 
heart  to  see  her  guardian  again.  His  gloom,  his  bitterness,  were 
all  forgotten ;  she  only  remembered  his  unceasing  care  and  kind- 
ness, his  noble  generosity,  his  brilliant  smile,  which  was  be- 
stowed on  her.  Pressing  her  face  against  Charon's  head,  she 
murmured  pleadingly: 

"  Oh,  Father,  protect  him  from  suffering  and  death !  Guide 
him  safely  home.  Give  me  my  guardian  back.  Oh,  Father,  give 
me  my  wandering  friend  once  more ! " 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

;  "  FOLD  that  coat  for  me,  my  dear ;  there,  give  it  to  me,  I  be- 
lieve there  is  room  in  this  trunk  for  it." 

Mrs.  Asbury  took  one  of  her  husband's  coats  from  Beulah's 
hands,  and  carefully  packed  it  away. 

"  How  long  will  you  be  absent,  do  you  suppose  ? " 

"  Probably  not  longer  than  a  month.  The  doctor  thinks  a 
few  days  at  Saratoga  will  invigorate  him.  If  you  had  con- 
sented to  go  we  had  intended  spending  a  week  at  Niagara.  I 
am  sorry  you  will  not  go,  Beulah;  you  would  enjoy  the  trip, 
and,  moreover,  the  change  would  benefit  you.  Why  do  you  so 
pertinaciously  reject  that  legacy  of  Cornelia's?  The  money  has 
been  in  my  husband's  hands  for  some  years  untouched,  and  Mr. 
Graham  said,  not  long  since,  that  you  might  just  as  well  accept 
it,  for  he  would  never  receive  a  cent  of  it  in  return.  The  origi- 
nal sum  has  been  considerably  augmented  by  judicious  invest- 
ments, and  would  place  you  above  the  necessity  of  labor,  if  you 
would  accept  it.  Your  refusal  wounds  Mr.  Graham ;  he  told  me 
so  last  week.  It  was  Cornelia's  particular  request  that  you 
should  have  that  amount,  and  he  is  anxious  to  see  you  in  pos- 
session of  it.  I  told  him  of  your  suggestion,  that  he  should  add 
this  legacy  to  the  sum  already  given  to  the  asylum;  but  he 
vowed  solemnly  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  If  you 
choose  to  give  it  to  the  asylum,  you  could  do  so,  of  course,  the 
money  was  yours;  he  would  never  touch  a  cent  of  it.  Beulah, 
if  you  will  not  think  me  officious,  I  will  say,  candidly,  that  I 
think  you  ought  to  accept  it.  That  is,  use  it,  for  the  legacy 
Las  been  left,  whether  you  employ  it  or  not." 

Beulah  looked  grave  and  troubled,  but  made  no  reply. 

Mrs.  Asbury  finished  packing  the  trunk,  locked  it,  and,  turn- 
ing toward  the  door,  said: 

"  I  am  going  upstairs  to  see  about  the  furniture  in  that  room 
•which  Georgia  calls  the  '  Pitti  Gallery.'  Come  with  me,  my 
dear." 

She  led  the  way,  and  Beulah  followed,  until  they  reached  a 
large  apartment  in  the  third  story,  the  door  of  which  Mrs.  As- 


BEULAH.  157 

bury  unlocked.  As  they  entered,  Beulah  started  on  seeing  the 
statuary  and  paintings  with  which  she  was  so  familiar  in  for- 
mer years;  and  in  one  corner  of  the  room  stood  the  melodeon, 
carefully  covered.  A  quantity  of  tissue  paper  lay  on  the  floor, 
and  Mrs.  Asbury  began  to  cover  the  paintings  by  pinning  the 
sheets  together.  Beulah  took  off  her  gloves  and  assisted;  there 
was  silence  for  some  time,  but  on  lifting  a  piece  of  drapery 
Mrs.  Asbury  exposed  the  face  of  a  portrait  which  Beulah  recog- 
nized from  the  peculiarity  of  the  frame  as  the  one  that  had 
hung  over  the  mantel  in  her  guardian's  study.  Paper  and  pins 
fell  from  her  fingers,  and,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  she  gazed  upon 
the  face  she  had  so  long  desired  to  see.  She  traced  a  slight 
resemblance  to  Antoinette  in  the  faultless  features;  the  coun- 
tenance was  surpassingly  beautiful.  It  was  a  young,  girlish 
face,  sparMing  with  joyousness,  bewitching  in  its  wonderful 
loveliness.  The  eloquent  eyes  were  strangely,  almost  wildly 
brilliant;  the  full  crimson  lips  possessed  that  rare  outline  one 
sees  in  old  pictures,  and  the  cheek,  tinted  like  a  seashell,  rested 
on  one  delicate,  dimpled  hand.  Beulah  looked,  and  grew  dizzy. 
This  was  his  wife;  this  the  portrait  he  had  kept  shrouded  so 
long  and  so  carefully.  How  he  must  have  worshiped  that  ra- 
diant young  bride. 

Mrs.  Asbury  noticed  her  emotion,  and  asked  with  some  sur- 
prise : 

"  Did  you  never  see  this  before  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  was  always  covered,  and.  hung  too  high  for  me  to 
lift  the  crape."  Beulah's  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  canvas.  Mrs. 
Asbury  watched  her  a', moment,  and  said: 

"  It  is  an  undetermined  question  in  my  mind  whether  beauty, 
such  as  this,  is  not  a  curse.  In  this  instance  assuredly  it  proved 
so,  for  it  wrecked  the  happiness  of  both  husband  and  wife.  My 
dear  child,  do  you  know  your  guardian's  history  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  him,  save  that  he  is  my  best  friend." 

"  When  I  first  saw  Guy  Hartwell,  he  was  one  of  the  noblest 
men  I  ever  met ;  commanding  universal  admiration  and  esteem. 
It  was  before  his  marriage;  he  was  remarkably  handsome,  as 
you  can  readily  imagine  he  must  have  been,  and  his  manners 
possessed  a  singular  fascination  for  all  who  came  within  the 
circle  of  his  acquaintance.  Even  now,  after  the  lapse  of  ten 
years,  I  remember  his  musical,  ringing  laugh;  a  laugh  I  have 
never  heard  since.  His  family  were  aristocratic  and  wealthy, 
and  Guy  was  his  mother's  idol.  She  was  a  haughty,  imperious 
woman,  and  her  '  boy,'  as  she  fondly  termed  him,  was  her  pride. 
His  only  sister  (Mrs.  Chilton,  or  rather  Mrs.  Lockhart),  was  his 
senior,  and  he  had  a  younger  brother,  Harry,  who  was  extremely 
wild;  ran  away  from  home,  and  spent  most  of  his  time  at  sea. 
Guy  was  naturally  of  a  happy,  genial  temperament;  fond  of 
study;  fond  of  art,  flowers,  poetry,  everything  that  was  noble 


158  BEULAH. 

and  beautiful  that  could  minister  to  highly  cultivated  tastes. 
Mr.  Chilton  was  unfortunate  in  his  speculations;  lost  his  for- 
tune, and  died  soon  after  Pauline's  birth,  leaving  his  wife  and 
child  dependent  on  her  mother  and  brother.  May  and  the  old 
lady  often  disagreed,  and  only  Guy  could  harmonize  their  dis- 
cords. During  a  visit  to  "New  Orleans,  he  accidentally  met  the 
original  of  this  portrait ;  her  family  were  almost  destitute,  but 
he  aided  them  very  liberally.  She  was  very  beautiful,  and  in  an 
unlucky  hour  he  determined  to  marry  her.  She  was  a  mere 
child,  and  he  placed  her  for  a  while  at  a  school,  where  she 
enjoyed  every  educational  advantage.  He  was  completely  fas- 
cinated ;  seemed  to  think  only  of  Creola,  and  hastened  the  mar- 
riage, His  mother  and  sister  bitterly  opposed  the  match,  ridi- 
culed his  humble  and  portionless  bride;  but  he  persisted,  and 
brought  her  here,  a  beautiful,  heedless  girl.  Guy  built  that 
house,  and  his  mother  and  sister  occupied  one  near  him,  which 
was  burned  before  you  knew  anything  about  them.  Of  course 
his  wife  went  constantly  into  society,  and  before  six  months 
elapsed  poor  Guy  discovered  that  he  had  made  a  fatal  mistake. 
.  She  did  not  love  him,  had  married  him  merely  for  the  sake  of 
an  elegant  home  and  money  to  lavish  as  her  childish  whims 
dictated.  Ah,  Beulah!  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to  think  of  the 
change  this  discovery  wrought  in  Guy's  nature.  He  was  a 
proud  man,  naturally,  but  now  he  became  repulsive,  cold  and 
austere.  The  revolution  in  his  deportment  and  appearance  was 
almost  incredible.  His  wife  was  recklessly  imprudent,  and 
launched  into  the  wildest  excesses  which  society  sanctioned. 
When  he  endeavored  to  restrain  her,  she  rebelled,  and  without 
his  knowledge  carried  on  a  flirtation  with  one  whom  she  had 
known  previous  to  her  marriage.  I  believe  she  was  innocent 
in  her  folly,  and  merely  thoughtlessly  fed  her  vanity  with  the 
adulation  excited  by  her  beauty.  Poor  child,  she  might  have 
learned  discretion,  but  unfortunately  Mrs.  Chilton  had  always 
detested  her,  and  now,  watching  her  movements,  she  discovered 
Creola's  clandestine  meetings  with  the  gentleman  whom  her  hus- 
band had  forbidden  her  to  recognize  as  an  acquaintance.  In- 
stead of  exerting  herself  to  rectify  the  difficulties  in  her  broth- 
er's home,  she  apparently  exulted  in  the  possession  of  facts 
which  allowed  her  to  taunt  him  with  his  wife's  imprudence  and 
indifference.  He  denied  the  truth  of  her  assertions ;  she  dared 
him  to  watch  her  conduct,  and  obtained  a  note  which  enabled 
him  to  return  home  one  day  at  an  unusually  early  hour,  and 
meet  the  man  he  had  denounced  in  his  own  parlor.  Guy  ordered 
him  out  of  the  house,  and,  without  addressing  his  wife,  rode 
back  to  see  his  patients;  but  that  night  he  learned  from  her 
that  before  he  ever  met  her  an  engagement  existed  between  her- 
self and  the  man  he  so  detested.  He  was  poor,  and  her  mother 
had  persuaded  her  to  marry  Guy  for  his  fortune.  She  seemed 


BEULAH.  159 

to  grow  frantic,  cursed  the  hour  of  her  marriage,  professed  sin- 
cere attachment  to  the  other,  and,  I  firmly  believe,  became  in- 
sane from  that  moment.  Then  and  there  they  parted.  Creola 
returned  to  her  mother,  but  died  suddenly  a  few  weeks  after 
leaving  her  husband.  They  had  been  married  but  a  year.  I 
have  always  thought  her  mind  diseased,  and  it  was  rumored 
that  her  mother  died  insane.  Doubtless  Guy's  terrible  rage 
drove  her  to  desperation;  though  he  certainly  had  cause  to 
upbraid.  I  have  often  feared  that  he  would  meet  the  object 
of  his  hatred,  and  once,  and  only  once,  afterwards,  that  man 
came  to  the  city.  Why,  I  never  knew,  but  my  husband  told  me 
that  he  saw  him  at  a  concert  here  some  years  ago.  Poor  Guy ! 
how  he  suffered ;  yet  how  silently  he  bore  it ;  how  completely  he 
sheathed  his  heart  of  fire  in  icy  vestments.  He  never  alluded 
to  the  affair  in  the  remotest  manner;  never  saw  her  after  that 
night.  He  was  sitting  in  our  library,  waiting  to  see  my  hus- 
band, when  he  happened  to  open  the  letter  announcing  her 
death.  I  was  the  only  person  present,  and  noticed  that  a  change 
passed  over  his  countenance;  I  spoke  to  him,  but  he  did  not 
reply ;  I  touched  him,  but  he  took  no  notice  whatever,  and  sat 
for  at  least  an  hour  without  moving  a  muscle,  or  uttering  a 
word.  Finally  George  came  and  spoke  to  him  appealingly.  He 
looked  up  and  smiled.  Oh,  what  a  smile!  May  I  never  see  such 
another;  it  will  haunt  me  while  I  live!  Without  a  word  he 
folded  the  letter,  replaced  it  in  the  envelope,  and  left  us.  Soon 
after  his  mother  died,  and  he  went  immediately  to  Europe.  He 
was  absent  two  years,  and  came  back  so  stern,  so  cynical,  so 
unlike  his  former  self,  I  scarcely  knew  him.  Mrs.  Chilton  took 
charge  of  his  house  from  the  hour  of  his  separation  from 
Creola,  but  they  were  not  congenial.  He  was  vastly  her  supe- 
rior, save  in  intellect,  which  none  of  the  Hartwell  family  ever 
lacked.  My  husband  is  very  much  attached  to  Guy ;  thinks  he 
has  not  an  equal,  yet  mourns  over  the  blight  which  fell  upon 
him  in  the  very  morn  of  his  glorious  manhood.  About  a  year 
after  his  return  from  Europe  he  took  you  to  his  house  as  an 
adopted  child.  I  wondered  at  it,  for  I  knew  how  embittered  his 
whole  soul  had  become.  But  the  heart  must  have  an  idol;  he 
was  desolate  and  miserable,  and  took  you  home  to  have  some- 
thing to  love  and  interest  him.  You  never  knew  him  in  the 
pride  of  his  being,  for,  though  comparatively  young  in  years,  he 
had  grown  prematurely  old  in  feeling  before  you  saw  him. 
Poor  Guy !  may  a  merciful  and  loving  God  preserve  him  wher- 
ever he  may  be,  and  bring  him  to  a  knowledge  of  that  religion 
which  alone  can  comfort  a  nature  like  his ;  so  noble,  so  gifted, 
yet  so  injured,  so  embittered.". 

She  brushed  away  the  tears  that  stood  on  her  cheeks,  and 
looked  sorrowfully  at  the  portrait  of  the  unfortunate  young 
wife. 


160  BEULAH. 

Beulah  sat  with  her  face  partially  averted,  and  her  eyes 
shaded  with  her  hand;  once  or  twice  her  lips  moved,  and  a 
shiver  ran  over  her.  She  looked  up,  and  said,  abruptly: 

"  Leave  the  key  of  this  room  with  me,  will  you  ?  I  should 
like  to  come  here  occasionally." 

"  Certainly,  come  as  often  as  you  choose ;  and  here  on  this 
hunch  is  the  key  of  the  melodeon.  Take  it,  also ;  the  instrument 
needs  dusting,  I  dare  say,  for  it  has  never  been  opened  since 
Guy  left,  nearly  five  years  ago.  There,  the  clock  struck  two, 
and  the  boat  leaves  at  four;  there,  too,  is  my  husband's  foot- 
step. Come,  my  dear,  we  must  go  down.  Take  these  keys  until 
I  return." 

She  gave  them  to  her,  and  they  descended  to  the  dining- 
room,  where  the  doctor  awaited  them. 

"Beulah,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself  next  year? 
You  must  not  think  of  living  in  that  cottage  alone.  Since 
Mrs.  Williams's  death,  you  should  abandon  the  thought  of 
keeping  house.  It  will  not  do,  child,  for  you  to  live  there  by 
yourself."  So  said  the  doctor,  a  short  time  before  he  bade 
her  adieu. 

"I  don't  know  yet  what  I  shall  do.  I  am  puzzled  about  a 
home." 

"  You  need  not  be ;  come  and  live  in  my  house,  as  I  begged 
you  to  do  long  ago.  Alice  and  I  will  be  heartily  glad  to  have 
you.  Child,  why  should  you  hesitate?" 

"  I  prefer  a  home  of  my  own,  if  circumstances  permitted  it. 
You  and  Mrs.  Asbury  have  been  very  kind  in  tendering  me  a 
home  in  your  house,  and  I  do  most  sincerely  thank  you  both 
for  your  friendly  interest,  but  I " 

"  Oh,  Beulah,  I  should  be  so  very  glad  to  have  you  always 
with  me.  My  dear  child,  come." 

Mrs.  Asbury  passed  her  arm  affectionately  around  the  girl's 
waist.  Beulah  looked  at  her  with  trembling  lips,  and  said 
hastily: 

"Will  you  take  me  as  a  boarder?" 

"  I  would  rather  take  you  as  a  friend — as  a  daughter." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  Alice.  She  shall  pay  the  highest  possible 
board.  Don't  imagine,  Miss  Independence,  that  I  expected  for 
a  moment  to  offer  you  a  home  gratis.  Pay  board?  That  you 
shall ;  always  in  advance,  and  candles,  and  fires,  and  the  use  of 
my  library,  and  the  benefit  of  my  explanations,  and  conversa- 
tion charged  as  '  extras,' "  cried  the  doctor,  shaking  his  fist  at 
her. 

"  Then,  sir,  I  engage  rooms." 

"  Will  you  really  come,  my  child  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Asbury,  kiss- 
ing the  orphan's  pale  cheek  tenderly. 

"  Gladly,  as  a  boarder,  and  very  grateful  for  such  a  privilege." 

"Beulah,  on  reflection,  I  think  I  can  possibly  take  Charon 


BEULAH.  161 

for  half  price;  though  I  must  confess  to  numerous  qualms  of 
conscience  at  the  bare  suggestion  of  receiving  such  an  '  infer- 
nal '  character  into  my  household." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she,  and  saw  them  depart  for  Saratoga, 
whither  Georgia  and  Helen  had  preceded  them.  Several  weeks 
elapsed  without  her  receiving  any  tidings,  and  then  a  letter 
came  giving  her  information  of  a  severe  illness  which  had  at- 
tacked the  doctor  immediately  after  his  arrival  in  New  York. 
He  was  convalescing  rapidly  when  his  wife  wrote,  and  in  proof 
thereof  subjoined  a  postscript,  in  his  scrawling  hand  and  wonted 
bantering  style.  Beulah  laughed  over  it,  refolded  the  letter, 
and  went  into  her  little  garden  to  gather  a  bouquet  for  one  of 
her  pupils  who  had  recently  been  quite  sick.  She  wore  a  white 
muslin  apron  over  her  black  dress,  and  soon  filled  it  with  ver- 
bena, roses  and  geranium  sprigs.  Sitting  down  on  the  steps, 
she  began  to  arrange  them,  and  soon  became  absorbed  in  her 
occupation.  Presently  a  shadow  fell  on  the  step;  she  glanced 
up,  and  the  flowers  dropped  from  her  fingers,  while  an  exclama- 
tion of  surprise  escaped  her. 

Mr.  Lindsay  held  out  his  hand. 

"  After  four  years  of  absence,  of  separation,  have  you  no 
word  of  welcome  ?  " 

She  gave  him  both  hands,  and  said  eagerly: 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again ;  very  glad  that  I 
have  an  opportunity  of  congratulating  you  on  your  signal  suc- 
cess. I  am  heartily  glad  my  friend  is  soon  to  enter  Congres- 
sional halls.  Accept  my  most  sincere  congratulations  on  your 
election." 

A  sudden  flush  rose  to  his  temples,  and  clasping  her  hands 
tightly,  he  exclaimed,  passionately: 

"  Oh,  Beulah,  your  congratulations  mock  me.  I  come  to  offer 
you,  once  more,  my  hand,  my  heart,  nrjr  honors,  if  I  have  any. 
I  have  waited  patiently:  no,  not  patiently,  but  still  I  have 
waited,  for  some  token  of  remembrance  from  you,  and  could 
bear  my  suspense  no  longer.  Will  you  share  the  position  which 
has  been  accorded  me  recently?  Will  you  give  me  this  hand 
which  I  desire  more  intensely  than  the  united  honors  of  the 
universe  beside?  Beulah,  has  my  devoted  love  won  me  your 
affection  ?  Will  you  go  with  me  to  Washington  ?  " 

"  I  cannot !    I  cannot." 

"  Cannot  ?  Oh,  Beulah,  I  would  make  you  a  happy  wife,  if  it 
cost  me  my  life." 

"  No.  I  could  not  be  happy  as  your  wife.  It  is  utterly  im- 
possible. Mr.  Lindsay,  I  told  you  long  ago  you  could  never  be 
more  than  a  friend." 

"  And  have  years  wrought  no  change  in  your  heart  ?  " 

"  Years  have  strengthened  my  esteem,  my  sincere  friendship ; 
but  more  than  this,  all  time  cannot  accomplish." 


162  BEULAH. 

"  Your  heart  is  tenacious  of  its  idol,"  he  answered,  moodily. 

"  It  rebels,  sir,  now  as  formerly,  at  the  thought  of  linking 
my  destiny  with  that  of  one  whom  I  never  loved."  Beulah 
spoke  rapidly,  her  cheeks  burned  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with 
displeasure. 

He  looked  at  her  and  sighed  deeply,  then  threw  down  a  let- 
ter, saying: 

"  Ah,  Beulah,  I  understood  long  ago  why  you  could  not  love 
me;  but  I  hoped  years  of  absence  would  obliterate  the  memory 
that  prevented  my  winning  you.  I  made  unusual  exertions  to 
discover  some  trace  of  your  wandering  guardian ;  have  written 
constantly  to  my  former  banker  in  Paris,  to  find  some  clew  to 
his  whereabouts.  Through  him  I  learn  that  your  friend  was 
last  heard  of  at  Canton,  and  the  supposition  is  that  he  is  no 
longer  living.  I  do  not  wish  to  pain  you,  Beulah,  but  I  would 
fain  show  you  how  frail  a  hope  you*  cling  to.  Believe  me,  dear 
Beulah,  I  am  not  so  selfish  as  to  rejoice  at  his  prolonged  ab- 
sence. ISTo,  no.  Love,  such  as  mine,  prizes  the  happiness  of  its 
object  above  all  other  things.  Were  it  in  my  power,  I  would 
restore  him  to  you  this  moment.  I  had  hoped  you  would  learn 
to  love  me,  but  I  erred  in  judging  your  nature.  Henceforth  I 
will  cast  off  this  hope,  and  school  myself  to  regard  you  as  my 
friend  only.  I  have,  at  least,  deserved  your  friendship." 

"  And  it  is  inalienably  yours,"  cried  she,  very  earnestly. 

"In  future,  when  toiling  to  discharge  my  duties,  I  may 
believe  I  have  one  sincere  friend,  who  will  rejoice  at  my 
success  ? " 

"  Of  this  you  may  well  rest  assumed.  It  seems  a  poor  return, 
Mr.  Lindsay,  for  all  you  have  tendered  me ;  but  it  is  the  most 
I  can  give,  the  most  an  honest  heart  will  allow  me  to  offer. 
Truly,  you  may  always  claim  my  friendship  and  esteem,  if  it 
has  any  worth." 

"  I  prize  it  far  more  than  your  hand  unaccompanied  by  your 
heart.  Henceforth,  we  will  speak  of  the  past  no  more;  only 
lei  me  be  the  friend  an  orphan  may  require.  You  are  to  live  in 
my  uncle's  house,  I  believe ;  I  am  very  glad  you  have  decided  to 
do  so;  this  is  not  a  proper  home  for  you  now.  How  do  you 
contrive  to  exorcise  loneliness  ? " 

"I  do  not  always  succeed  very  well.  My  flowers  are  a  great 
resource;  I  don't  know  how  I  should  live  without  them.  My 
books,  too,  serve  to  occupy  my  attention."  She  was  making  a 
great  effort  to  seem  cheerful,  but  he  saw  that  her  smile  was 
forced;  and  with  an  assurance  that  he  would  see  her  again 
before  he  went  to  Washington,  he  shook  hands  cordially,  and 
left  her.  She  tied  her  bouquet  and  dispatched  it  to  the  sick 
child  with  a  few  lines  of  kind  remembrance ;  then  took  the  let- 
ter which  Mr.  Lindsay  had  thrown  on  the  steps  and  opened  it 
with  trembling  fingers: 


BEULAH.  163 

MR.  R.  LINDSAY. 

DEAK  SIR: — Yours  of  the  third  came  to  hand  yesterday.  As  I 
\vrote  you  before,  I  accidentally  learned  that  Dr.  Hartwell  had  been 
in  Canton;  but  since  that,  have  heard  nothing  from  him,  and  have 
been  unable  to  trace  him  further.  Letters  from  Calcutta  state  that 
he  left  that  city,  more  than  a  year  since,  for  China.  Should  I  obtain 
any  news  of  him,  rest  assured  it  shall  be  immediately  transmitted 
to  you.  Very  respectfully,  R.  A.  FIELDS. 

She  crumpled  the  sheet,  and  threw  it  from  her;  and  if  ever 
earnest,  heartspoken  prayer  availed,  her  sobbing  cry  to  the  God 
of  travelers  insured  his  safety. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

BY  a  system  of  rigid  economy  in  the  disposal  of  her  time, 
Beulah  not  only  attended  to  her  school  duties,  her  music,  and 
her  books,  but  found  leisure,  after  writing  her  magazine  arti- 
cles, to  spend  some  time  each  day  with  the  family  under  whose 
roof  she  resided.  Dr.  Asbury's  health  was  rather  feeble,  and  of 
late  his  eyes  had  grown  so  dim  as  to  prevent  his  reading  or 
writing.  This  misfortune  was  to  a  great  extent  counterbal- 
anced by  his  wife's  devoted  attention,  and  often  Beulah  shared 
the  duties  of  the  library.  One  bright  Sunday  afternoon  she 
walked  out  to  the  cemetery,  which  she  visited  frequently.  In 
one  corner  of  a  small  lot,  inclosed  by  a  costly  iron  railing,  stood 
a  beautiful  marble  monument,  erected  by  Mr.  Grayson  over 
Lilly's  grave.  It  represented  two  angels  bearing  the  child  up 
to  its  God. 

She  believed;  and  while  a  beautiful  world  linked  her  to  life 
and  duty  called  to  constant  and  cheerful  labor,  death  lost  its 
hideous  aspect.  With  a  firm  faith  in  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  she 
felt  that  earth  with  all  its  loveliness  was  but  a  probationary 
dwelling  place,  and  that  death  was  an  angel  of  God,  summon- 
ing the  laborers  to  their  harvest  home. 

As  she  turned  her  steps  homeward,  a  shadowy  smile  stole 
over  her  features,  and  the  lines  about  her  mouth  resumed  their 
wonted  composure. 

Mrs.  Asbury  sat  at  a  table,  weighing  out  some  medicine  he 
had  directed  sent  to  a  patient.  She  looked  up  as  Beulah  en- 
tered, smiled,  and  said  in  an  undertone: 

"  My  liege  lord  is  indulging  in  a  nap.  Come  to  the  fire, 
dear;  you  look  cold." 

The  doctor  waked,  and  began  to  talk  about  the  severity  of 
the  winter  farther  north,  and  the  suffering  it  produced  among 
the  poor.  Presently  he  said: 

"What  has  become  of  that  child,  Beulah — do  you  know, 
Alice?" 


164  BEULAH. 

"  Yes ;  there  she  is  by  the  window.  Tou  were  asleep  when 
she  came  in." 

He  looked  round  and  called  to  her. 

"  What  were  you  thinking  about,  Beulah  ?  You  look  as  cold 
as  an  iceberg.  Come  to  the  fire.  Warm  hands  and  feet  will  aid 
your  philosophizing  wonderfully." 

"I  am  not  philosophizing,  sir,"  she  replied,  without 'rising. 

"  I  will  wager  my  elegant  new  edition  of  Coleridge  against 
your  old  one,  that  you  are!  Now,  out  with  your  cogitations, 
you  incorrigible  dreamer !  " 

"  I  have  won  your  Coleridge.  I  was  only  thinking  of  that 
Talmudish  tradition  regarding  Sandalphon,  the  angel  of 
prayer." 

"What  of  him?" 

"  Why,  that  he  stands  at  the  gate  of  heaven,  listens  to  the 
sounds  that  ascend  from  earth,  and  gathering  all  the  prayers 
and  entreaties,  as  they  are  wafted  from  sorrowing  humanity, 
they  change  to  flowers  in  his  hands,  and  the  perfume  is  borne 
into  the  celestial  city  to  God.  Yesterday  I  read  Longfellow's 
lines  on  this  legend,  and  suppose  my  looking  up  at  the  stars 
recalled  it  to  my  mind.  But  Georgia  told  me  you  asked  for  me. 
Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  sir?  Are  there  any  prescriptions 
you  wish  written  off?"  She  came  and  stood  by  his  chair. 

"  No,  thank  you,  child ;  but  I  should  like  to  hear  more  of 
that  book  you  were  reading  to  me  last  night — that  is,  if  it  will 
not  weary  you,  my  child." 

"  Certainly  not — here  it  is.  I  was  waiting  for  you  to  ask  me 
for  more  of  it.  Shall  I  begin  now,  or  defer  it  till  after  tea  ? " 

"  Now,  if  you  please." 

Mrs.  Asbury  seated  herself  on  an  ottoman  at  her  husband's 
feet,  and  threw  her  arm  over  his  knee,  and  opening  "  Butler's 
Analogy,"  Beulah  began  to  read  where  she  left  off  the  previous 
day,  in  the  chapter  on  "  a  future  life." 

With  his  hand  resting  on  his  wife's  head,  Dr.  Asbury  listened 
attentively.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  chapter  she  turned  to  the 
dissertation  on  "  personal  identity,"  so  nearly  related  to  it,  and 
read  it  slowly  and  impressively. 

"It  is  remarkably  clear  and  convincing,"  said  the  doctor, 
when  she  ceased. 

CHAPTER  XXXH. 

"  I  WISH  Hartwell  would  come  home,  and  attend  to  his  busi- 
ness," muttered  Dr.  Asbury,  some  weeks  later;  and  as  he  spoke 
he  threw  his  feet  impatiently  over  the  fender  of  the  grate,  look- 
ing discontented  enough. 

"  He  will  come,  sir ;  he  will  come,"  answered  Beulah,  who  sat 
near  him. 


BEULAH.  165 

"  How  do  you  know  that  so  well,  child  ?  Why  do  you  suppose 
he  will  come  ? "  asked  the  doctor,  knitting  his  bushy  gray  eye- 
brows. 

"  Perhaps,  because  I  wish  it  so  very  much ;  and  hope  and 
faith  are  nearly  allied,  you  know;  and  perhaps  more  than  this 
— because  I  have  prayed  so  long  for  his  return." 

She  sat  with  her  hands  folded,  looking  quietly  into  the  glow- 
ing grate.  The  old  man  watched  her  a  moment,  as  the  firelight 
glared  over  her  grave,  composed  face,  and  tears  came  suddenly 
into  his  eyes. 

"  When  Harry  Hartwell  died  (about  eighteen  months  since) 
he  left  his  share  of  the  estate  to  Guy.  It  is  one  of  the  finest 
plantations  in  the  State,  and  for  the  last  three  years  the  crops 
have  been  remarkably  good.  The  cotton  has  been  sold  regu- 
larly, and  the  bulk  of  the  money  is  still  in  the  hands  of  the 
factor.  Yesterday  I  happened  to  pass  the  old  house,  and  rode 
in  to  see  how  things  looked;  positively,  child,  you  would 
scarcely  recognize  the  place.  You  know  the  Parleys  only  occu- 
pied it  a  few  months ;  since  that  time  it  has  been  rented.  Just 
now  it  is  vacant,  and  such  a  deserted  looking  tenement  I  have 
not  seen  for  many  days.  AAfar  as  I  am  concerned- 


Here  a  servant  entered  to  inform  the  doctor  that  he  was 
wanted  immediately  to  see  one  of  his  patients.  He  kicked  off 
his  slippers,  and  got  up,  grumbling: 

"  A  plague  on  Guy's  peregrinating  proclivities !  I  am  getting 
too  old  to  jump  up  every  three  seconds  to  keep  somebody's  baby 
from  jerking  itself  into  a  spasm  or  suffocating  with  the  croup. 
Hartwell  ought  to  be  here  to  take  all  this  practice  off  my 
hands." 

Beulah  went  to  her  own  room,  and  put  on  her  bonnet  and 
cloak.  Charon  very  rarely  attended  her  in  her  rambles ;  he  had 
grown  old,  and  was  easily  fatigued,  but  this  afternoon  she  called 
to  him,  and  they  set  out.  It  was  a  mild,  sunny  evening  for 
winter,  and  she  took  the  street  leading  to  her  guardian's  old 
residence.  A  quick  walk  soon  brought  her  into  the  suburbs, 
and  ere  long  she  stood  before  the  entrance.  The  great  central 
gate  was  chained,  but  the  little  side  gate  was  completely  broken 
from  its  hinges,  and  lay  on  the  ground.  Alas !  this  was  but 
the  beginning;  as  she  entered,  she  saw  with  dismay  that  the 
yard  was  full  of  stray  cattle.  Cows,  sheep,  goats,  browsed 
about  undisturbed  among  the  shrubbery,  which  her  guardian  had 
tended  so  carefully.  She  had  not  been  here  since  he  sold  it, 
but  even  Charon  saw  that  something  was  strangely  amiss.  He 
bounded  off,  and  soon  cleared  the  inclosure  of  the  herd,  which 
had  become  accustomed  to  grazing  there.  Beulah  walked  slowly 
up  the  avenue ;  the  aged  cedars  whispered  hoarsely  above  her  as 
she  passed,  and  the  towering  poplars,  whose  ceaseless  rustle 
had  an  indescribable  charm  for  her  in  summers  past,  now  tossed 


166  BEULAH. 

their  bare  boughs  toward  her  in  mute  complaining  of  the  deso- 
lation which  surrounded  them.  The  reckless  indifference  of 
tenants  has  deservedly  grown  into  a  proverb,  and  here  Beulah 
beheld  an  exemplification  of  its  truth.  Of  all  the  choice  shrub- 
bery which  it  had  been  the  labor  of  years  to  collect  and  foster, 
not  a  particle  remained.  Hoses,  creepers,  bulbs — all  were  de- 
stroyed, and  only  the  trees  and  hedges  were  spared.  The  very 
outline  of  the  beds  was  effaced  in  many  places,  and,  walking 
round  the  paved  circle  in  front  of  the  door,  she  paused  abruptly 
at  the  desolation  which  greeted  her.  Here  was  the  marble  basin 
of  the  fountain  half  filled  with  rubbish,  as  though  it  had  been 
converted  into  a  receptacle  for  trash,  and  over  the  whole  front 
of  the  house,  the  dark,  glossy  leaves  of  the  creeping  ivy  clung 
in  thick  masses.  She  looked  around  on  all  sides,  but  only  ruin 
and  neglect  confronted  her.  She  remembered  the  last  time  she 
came  here,  and  recalled  the  beautiful  Sunday  morning  when 
she  saw  her  guardian  standing  by  the  fountain,  feeding  his 
pigeons.  Ah,  how  sadly  changed !  She  burst  into  tears,  and 
sat  down  on  the  steps.  Charon  ran  about  the  yard  for  some 
time;  then  came  back,  looked  up  at  the  somber  house,  howled, 
and  laid  down  at  her  feet.  Where^was  the  old  master?  Wan- 
dering among  Eastern  pagodas,  while  his  home  became  a  re- 
treat for  owls. 

"  He  has  forgotten  us,  Charon !  He  has  forgotten  his  two 
best  friends ! "  cried  she,  almost  despairingly.  Charon  gave  a 
melancholy  groan  of  assent,  and  nestled  closer  to  her.  Five 
years  had  gone  since  he  left  his  native  land,  and  for  once  her 
faith  was  faint  and  wavering.  But  after  some  moments  she 
looked  up  at  the  calm  sky  arching  above  her,  and,  wiping  away 
her  tears,  added,  resignedly: 

"  But  he  will  come !  God  will  bring  him  home  when  he  sees 
fit !  I  can  wait !  I  can  wait !  " 

Charon's  great,  gleaming  black  eyes  met  hers  wistfully;  he 
seemed  dubious  of  his  master's  return.  Beulah  rose,  and  he 
obeyed  the  signal. 

"  Come,  Charon,  it  is  getting  late ;  but  we  will  come  back 
some  day,  and  live  here." 

It  was  dusk  when  she  entered  the  library,  and  found  Mrs. 
Asbury  discussing  the  political  questions  of  the  day  with  her 
husband.  She  had  just  finished  reading  aloud  one  of  Reginald's 
Congressional  speeches,  and  advocated  it  warmly,  while  the  doc- 
tor reprobated  some  portion  of  his  discourse. 

"  You  have  had  a  long  walk,"  said  Mrs.  Asbury,  looking  up  as 
the  orphan  entered. 

"  And  look,  for  the  universe,  as  if  you  had  been  ghost-seeing," 
cried  the  doctor,  wiping  his  spectacles. 

"  I  would  rather  meet  an  army  of  ghosts  than  see  what  I  have 
seen !  "  answered  Beulah. 


BEULAH.  167 

"  Good  heavens !  In  the  name  of  wonder,  what  have  you 
seen,  child  ?  A  rattlesnake,  or  a  screech-owl  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  out  to  see  the  old  place,  sir ;  found  the  gate 
broken  down,  the  front  yard  full  of  cows,  and  everything  going 
to  destruction,  except  the  trees  and  hedges.  Sir,  it  makes  me 
feel  very  sad.  I  can't  bear  to  have  things  go  on  this  way  any 
longer.  It  must  be  rectified." 

"  Bless  my  soul,  that  is  easier  said  than  done !  The  place  is 
a  perfect  owl-roost,  there  is  no  denying  that;  but  it  is  no  busi- 
ness of  ours.  If  Farley,  or  his  agent,  suffers  the  property  to  go 
to  ruin,  it  is  his  loss." 

"  But  I  love  the  place.  I  want  to  save  it.  Won't  you  buy  it, 
Dr.  Asbury?" 

"  Won't  I  buy  it  ?  Why,  what  on  earth  do  you  suppose  I 
should  do  with  it?  I  don't  want  to  live  in  it;  and  as  for  any 
more  investments  in  real  estate,  why,  just  excuse  me,  if  you 
please !  Insurance  and  repairs  eat  up  all  the  profits,  and  I  am 
plagued  to  death  with  petitions  in  the  bargain." 

"  Then  I  must  buy  it  myself ! "  said  Beulah,  resolutely. 

"  In  the  name  of  common  sense,  what  will  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet ;  keep  it,  I  suppose,  until  he  comes  home 
again.  How  much  do  you  suppose  the  Farleys  ask  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  really  cannot  conjecture.  But,  child,  you  must  not  think 
of  this.  I  will  see  the  agent  about  it,  and  perhaps  I  may  pur- 
chase it,  to  oblige  you.  I  will  not  hear  of  your  buying  it.  Guy 
certainly  cannot  contemplate  heathenating  much  longer.  There 
is  that  eternal  doorbell  again!  Somebody  that  believes  I  am 
constructed  of  wire  and  gutta-percha,  I  dare  say." 

He  leaned  back,  and  watched  the  door  very  uneasily.  A  ser- 
vant looked  in. 

"Mr.  Leonard,  to  see  Miss  Beulah." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  it  is  nobody  to  see  me !  "  The  doctor  set- 
tled himself  comfortably,  and  laughed  at  the  perturbed  expres- 
sion of  Beulah's  countenance. 

"  Ask  him  to  excuse  me  this  evening,"  said  she,  without  re- 
tiring. 

"  Nay,  my  dear ;  he  was  here  this  afternoon,  and  you  had  gone 
to  walk.  It  would  be  rude  not  to  see  him.  Go  into  the  parlor ; 
do,  my  dear ;  perhaps  he  will  not  detain  you  long,"  remonstrated 
Mrs.  Asbury. 

Beulah  said  nothing;  she  set  her  lips  firmly,  rose,  and  went 
to  the  parlor. 

"  Jangle,"  went  the  doorbell  once  more,  and  this  time  the 
doctor  was  forced  to  leave  his  chair  and  slippers. 

It  was  the  morning  after  her  walk  to  the  old  home  of  her 
guardian  that  Dr.  Asbury  threw  down  the  paper  on  the  break- 
fast table,  with  an  exclamation  of  horror. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  George  ?  "  cried  his  wife,  while  BeulaH 


168  BEULAH. 

grew   deadly    pale,   and   clutched   the   paper,    her   mind,   like 
"  Hinda's"  — 

"  Still  singling  one  from  all  mankind." 

"  Matter !  why  poor  Grayson  has  committed  suicide — shot 
himself  last  night,  poor  wretch!  He  has  been  speculating  too 
freely '  and  lost  every  cent ;  and,  worse  than  that  used  money 
to  do  it  that  was  not  his.  He  made  desperate  throws  and  lost 
all;  and  the  end  of  it  was,  that  when  his  operations  were  dis- 
covered, he  shot  himself,  leaving  his  family  utterly  destitute. 
I  heard  yesterday  that  they  would  not  have  a  cent;  but  never 
dreamed  of  his  being  so  weak  as  to  kill  himself.  Miserable 
mistake ! " 

"What  will  become  of  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Claudia?"  asked 
Beulah,  sorrowfully. 

"I  don't  know,  really.  Mrs.  Grayson  has  a  brother  living 
somewhere  up  the  country;  I  suppose  he  will  offer  them  a  home 
such  as  he  has.  I  pity  her;  she  is  a  weak  creature — weak,  mind 
and  body;  and  this  reverse  will  come  near  killing  her." 

For  some  days  nothing  was  discussed  but  the  "  Grayson  trag- 
edy." It  was  well  the  unhappy  man  could  not  listen  to  the  fierce 
maledictions  of  disappointed  creditors  and  the  slanders  which 
were  now  heaped  upon  his  name.  Whatever  his  motives  might 
have  been  the  world  called  his  offenses  by  the  darkest  names, 
and  angry  creditors  vowed  every  knife,  fork  and  spoon  should 
come  under  the  hammer.  The  elegant  house  was  sold — the 
furniture  with  it ;  and  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Claudia  removed  tem- 
porarily to  a  boarding-house.  Not  one  of  their  fashionable  in- 
timates approached  them — no,  not  one.  '  When  Claudia  went 
one  day  to  her  mantuamaker,  to  have  her  mourning  fitted,  she 
met  a  couple  of  ladies  who  had  formerly  been  constant  visitors 
at  the  house,  and  regular  attendants  at  her  parties.  Unsus- 
pectingly, she  hastened  to  meet  them,  but,  to  her  astonishment, 
instead  of  greeting  her,  in  their  usual  fawning  manner,  they 
received  her  with  a  very  cold  bow,  just  touched  the  tips  of  her 
fingers,  and  gathering  up  their  robes,  swept  majestically  from 
the  room.  Rage  and  mortification  forced  the  tears  into  her 
eyes. 

Mrs.  Asbury  had  never  admired  Mrs.  Grayson's  character; 
she  visited  her  formally  about  twice  a  year;  but  now,  in  this 
misfortune,  she  alone  called  to  see  her.  When  Claudia  returned 
from  the  mantuamaker's,  she  found  Mrs.  Asbury  with  her  moth- 
er, and  received  from  her  hand  a  kind,  friendly  note  from  the 
girl  she  had  so  grossly  insulted.  Beulah  was  no  flatterer;  she 
wrote  candidly  and  plainly;  said  he  would  have  called  at  once, 
had  she  supposed  her  company  would  be  acceptable.  She  would 
gladly  come  and  see  Claudia  whenever  she  desired  to  see  her, 
and  hoped  that  the  memory  of  other  years  would  teach  her  the 


BEULAH.  169 

sincerity  of  her  friendship.  Claudia  wept  bitterly,  a"s  she  read 
it,  and  vainly  regretted  the  superciliousness  which  had  alienated 
one  she  knew  to  be  noble  and  trustworthy.  She  was  naturally 
an  impulsive  creature,  and  without  a  moment's  hesitation, 
dashed  off  an  answer,  all  blurred  with  tears,  begging  Beulah  to 
overlook  her  "  foolishness,"  and  come  to  see  her. 

Accordingly,  after  school,  Beulah  went  to  the  house  where 
they  were  boarding.  Claudia  met  her  rather  awkwardly,  but 
Beulah  kissed  her  as  if  nothing  had  ever  occurred  to  mar  their 
intercourse;  and  after  some  desultory  conversation,  asked  her 
what  they  expected  to  do. 

"  Heaven  only  knows !  Starve,  I  suppose."  She  spoke  gloom- 
ily, and  folded  her  soft  white  hands  over  each  other,  as  if  the 
idea  of  work  was  something  altogether  foreign  to  her  mind. 

"  Claudy,  you  do  not  wish  to  be  dependent  on  a  man  who 
dislikes  you." 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  myself !  " 

"  And  you  certainly  do  not  wish  to  be  the  means  of  prevent- 
ing Mrs.  Grayson  from  having  a  comfortable  home  with  her 
brother?" 

Claudia  burst  into  tears;  she  did  not  love  her  mother,  did  not 
even  respect  her,  she  was  so  very  weak  and  childish;  yet  the 
young  orphan  felt  very  desolate,  and  knew  not  what  to  do. 
Beulah  took  her  hand,  and  said,  kindly : 

"  If  you  are  willing  to  help  yourself,  dear  Claudy,  I  will 
gladly  do  all  I  can  to  assist  you.  I  think  I  can  secure  you  a 
situation  as  teacher  of  drawing,  and,  until  you  can  make  some- 
thing at  it,  I  will  pay  your  board;  and  you  shall  stay  with  me, 
if  you  like.  You  can  think  about  it,  and  let  me  know  as  soon 
as  you  decide." 

Claudia  thanked  her  cordially,  and  returning  home,  Beulah 
immediately  imparted  the  plan  to  her  friends.  They  thought 
it  would  scarcely  succeed,  Claudia  had  been  so  petted  and 
spoiled.  Beulah  sat  gazing  into  the  fire  for  a  while ;  then,  look- 
ing at  the  doctor,  said  abruptly: 

"  There  is  that  Graham  money,  sir,  doing  nobody  any  good." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  have  been  telling  you  for  the  last  six 
years.  I  have  invested  it  carefully,  until  it  has  almost  doubled 
itself." 

"  It  would  make  them  very  comfortable ! "  continued  she, 
thoughtfully. 

"  Make  them  very  comfortable !  "  repeated  the  doctor,  throw- 
ing his  cigar  into  the  grate,  and  turning  suddenly  toward  her. 

"Yes,  Claudia  and  Mrs.  Grayson." 

"  Beulah  Benton !  are  you  going  insane,  I  should  like  to 
know  ?  Here  you  are,  working  hard  every  day  of  your  life,  and 
do  you  suppose  I  shall  suffer  you  to  give  that  legacy  (nearly 
nine  thousand  dollars!)  to  support  two  broken-down  fashion- 


170  BEULAH. 

ables  in  idleness?  Whoever  heard  such  a  piece  of  business 
since  the  world  began  ?  I  will  not  consent  to  it !  1  tell  you  now, 
the  money  shall  not  leave  my  hands  for  any  such  purpose." 

"  Oh,  sir,  it  would  make  me  so  very  happy  to  aid  them.  You 
cannot  conceive  how  much  pleasure  it  would  afford  me." 

"  Look  here,  child,  all  that  sort  of  angelic  disinterestedness 
sounds  very  well  done  up  in  a  novel,  but  the  reality  is  quite 
another  matter.  Mrs.  Grayson  treated  you  like  a  brute;  and  it 
is  not  to  be  expected  that  you  will  have  any  extraordinary  de- 
gree of  affection  for  her.  Human  nature  is  spiteful  and  unfor- 
giving; and  as  for  your  piling  coals  of  fire  on  her  head  to  the 
amount  of  nine  thousand  dollars,  that  is  being  entirely  too 
magnanimous." 

"  I  want  to  make  Mrs.  Grayson  amends,  sir.  Once,  when  I 
was  maddened  by  sorrow  and  pain,  I  said  something  which  I 
always  repented  bitterly."  As  Beulah  spoke,  a  cloud  swept 
across  her  face. 

"  What  was  it,  child?    What  did  you  say?  " 

"  I  cursed  her !  besought  God  to  punish  her  severely  for  her 
unkindness  to  me.  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  saying ;  but  even 
then  it  shocked  me,  and  I  prayed  God  to  forgive  my  passion. 
I  shudder  when  I  remember  it.  I  have  forgiven  her  heartless- 
ness  long  ago ;  and  now,  sir,  I  want  you  to  give  me  that  money. 
If  it  is  mine  at  all,  it  is  mine  to  employ  as  I  choose." 

"  Cornelia  did  not  leave  the  legacy  to  the  Graysons." 

"  Were  she  living,  she  would  commend  the  use  I  am  about 
to  make  of  it.  Will  you  give  me  five  thousand  dollars  of  it  ? " 

"  Oh,  Beulah,  you  are  a  queer  compound !  a  strange  being !  " 

"  Will  you  give  me  five  thousand  dollars  of  that  money  to- 
morrow ?  "  persisted  Beulah,  looking  steadily  at  him. 

"  Yes,  child,  if  you  will  have  it  so."  His  voice  trembled,  and 
he  looked  at  the  orphan  with  moist  eyes. 

Mrs.  Asbury  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation,  but  her 
earnest  face  attested  her  interest.  Passing  her  arm  around 
Beulah's  waist,  she  hastily  kissed  her  brow,  and  only  said : 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear,  noble  Beulah ! " 

"  I  do  not  see  that  I  am  at  all  magnanimous  in  giving  away 
other  people's  money.  If  I  had  earned  it  by  hard  labor,  and 
then  given  it  to  Claudy,  there  would  have  been  some  more  show 
of  generosity.  Here  come  Georgia  and  her  husband ;  you  do  not 
need  me  to  read  this  evening,  and  I  have  work  to  do."  She 
extricated  herself  from  Mrs.  Asbury's  clasping  arm  and  retired 
to  her  own  room.  The  following  day,  Claudia  came  to  say  that, 
as  she  knew  not  what  else  to  do,  she  would  gladly  accept  the 
position  mentioned  as  teacher  of  drawing  and  painting.  Mrs. 
Grayson's  brother  had  come  to  take  her  home,  but  she  was  un- 
willing to  be  separated  from  Claudia.  Beulah  no  longer  hesi- 
tated, and  the  sum  of  five  thousand  dollars  seemed  to  poor 


BEULAH.  171 

Claudia  a  fortune  indeed.  She  could  not  understand  how  the 
girl,  whom  she  and  her  mother  had  insulted,  could  possibly; 
have  the  means  of  making  them  so  comparatively  comfortable. 
Beulah  briefly  explained  the  circumstances  which  had  enabled 
her  to  assist  them.  The  bulk  of  the  money  remained  in  Dr. 
Asbury's  hands,  and  Claudia  was  to  apply  to  him  whenever  she 
needed  it.  She  and  her  mamma  found  a  cheaper  boarding- 
house,  and  Claudia's  duties  began  at  once.  Mrs.  Grayson  was 
overwhelmed  with  shame  when  the  particulars  were  made  known 
to  her,  and  tears  of 'bitter  mortification  could  not  obliterate  the 
memory  of  the  hour  when  she  cruelly  denied  the  prayer  of  the 
poor  orphan  to  whom  she  now  owed  the  shelter  above  her  head. 
Beulah  did  not  see  her  for  many  weeks  subsequent ;  she  knew 
how  painful  such  a  meeting  would  be  to  the  humbled  woman, 
and  while  she  constantly  cheered  and  encouraged  Claudia  in  her 
work,  she  studiously  avoided  Mrs.  Grayson's  presence. 

Thus  the  winter  passed;  and  once  more  the  glories  of  a 
Southern  spring  were  scattered  over  the  land.  To  the  Asburys 
Beulah  was  warmly  attached,  and  her  residence  with  them  was 
as  pleasant  as  any  home  could  possibly  have  been,  which  was 
not  her  own.  They  were  all  that  friends  could  be  to  an  or- 
phan; still,  she  regretted  her  little  cottage,  and  missed  the 
home-feeling  she  had  prized  so  highly.  True,  she  had  con- 
stant access  to  the  greenhouse,  and  was  rarely  without  her 
bouquet  of  choice  flowers;  but  these  could  not  compensate  her 
for  the  loss  of  her  own  little  garden.  She  struggled  bravely 
with  discontent;  tried  to  look  only  on  the  sunshine  in  her 
path,  and  to  be  always  cheerful.  In  this  she  partially  suc- 
ceeded; no  matfer  how  lonely  and  sad  she  felt,  she  hid  it 
carefully,  and  the  evenings  in  the  library  were  never  marred 
by  words  of  repining  or  looks  of  sorrow.  To  the  close  ob- 
server, there  were  traces  of  grief  in  her  countenance;  and 
sometimes  when  she  sat  sewing  while  Mrs.  Asbury  read  aloud, 
it  was  easy  to  see  that  her  thoughts  had  wandered  far  from 
that  little  room.  Time  had  changed  her  singularly  since  the 
old  asylum  days.  She  was  now  a  finely-formed,  remarkably 
graceful  woman,  with  a  complexion  of  dazzling  transparency. 
She  was  always  pale,  but  the  blue  veins  might  be  traced  any- 
where on  her  brow  and  temples;  and  the  dark,  gray  eyes,  with 
their  long,  jetty,  curling  lashes,  possessed  an  indescribable 
charm,  even  for  strangers.  She  had  been  an  ugly  child,  but 
certainly  she  was  a  noble-looking  if  not  handsome  woman.  To 
all  but  the  family  with  whom  she  resided,  she  was  rather  re- 
served; and  while  the  world  admired  and  eulogized  her  tal- 
ents as  a  writer,  she  felt  that,  except  Eugene,  she  had  no 
friends  beyond  the  threshold  of  the  house  she  lived  in.  As 
weeks  and  months  elapsed,  and  no  news  of  her  wandering 
guardian  came,  her  hope  began  to  pale.  For  weary  years  it 


172  BEULAH. 

had  burned  brightly,  but  constant  disappointment  was  press- 
ing heavily  on  her  heart,  and  crushing  out  the  holy  spark.-  The 
heartstrings  will  bear  rude  shocks  and  sudden  rough  hand- 
ling, but  the  gradual  tightening,  the  unremitted  tension  of 
long,  tediously-rolling  years,  will  in  time  accomplish  what 
fierce  assaults  cannot.  Continually  she  prayed  for  his  return, 
but,  despite  her  efforts  her  faith  grew  fainter  as  each  month 
crept  by,  and  her  smile  became  more  constrained  and  joyless. 
She  never  spoke  of  her  anxiety,  never  alluded  to  him,  but 
pressed  her  hands  over  her  aching  heart  and  did  her  work 
silently — nay,  cheerfully. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  day  was  dull,  misty  and  gusty.  All  the  morning  there 
had  been  a  driving  southeasterly  rain;  but  toward  noon,  there 
was  a  lull.  The  afternoon  was  heavy  and  threatening,  while 
armies  of  dense  clouds  drifted  before  the  wind.  Dr.  Asbury 
had  not  yet  returned  from  his  round  of  evening  visits;  Mrs. 
Asbury  had  gone  to  the  asylum  to  see  a  sick  child,  and  Georgia 
was  dining  with  her  husband's  mother.  Beulah  came  home 
from  school  more  than  usually  fatigued;  one  of  the  assistant 
teachers  was  indisposed,  and  she  had  done  double  work  to  re- 
lieve her.  She  sat  before  her  desk,  writing  industriously  on 
an  article  she  had  promised  to  complete  before  the  end  of  the 
week.  Her  head  ached ;  the  lines  grew  dim,  and  she  laid  aside 
her  manuscript  and  leaned  her  face  on  her  palms.  The  beauti- 
ful lashes  lay  against  her  brow,  for  the  eyes  were  raised  to 
the  portrait  above  her  desk,  and  she  gazed  up  at  the  faultless 
features  with  an  expression  of  sad  hopelessness.  Years  had 
not  filled  the  void  in  her  heart  with  other  treasures.  At  this 
hour  it  ached  with  its  own  desolation,  and  extending  her  arms 
imploringly  toward  the  picture,  she  exclaimed,  sorrowfully: 
"  Oh,  my  God !  how  long  must  I  wait  ?  Oh,  how  long  ?  " 
She  opened  the  desk,  and  taking  out  a  key,  left  her  room, 
and  slowly  ascended  to  the  third  story.  Charon  crept  up  the 
steps  after  her.  She  unlocked  the  apartment  which  Mrs.  As- 
bury had  given  into  her  charge  some  time  before,  and  raising 
one  of  the  windows,  looped  back  the  heavy  blue  curtains  which 
gave  a  somber  hue  to  all  within.  From  this  elevated  position 
she  could  see  the  stormy,  sullen  waters  of  the  bay  breaking 
against  the  wharves,  and  hear  their  hoarse  muttering  as  they 
rocked  themselves  to  rest  after  the  scourging  of  the  tempest. 
Gray  clouds  hung  low,  and  scudded  northward;  everything 
looked  dull  and  gloomy.  She  turned  from  the  window  and 
glanced  around  the  room.  It  was  at  all  times  a  painful  pleas- 
ure to  come  here,  and  now,  particularly,  the  interior  impressed 


BEULAH.  173 

her  sadly.  Here  were  the  paintings  and  statues  she  had  long 
been  so  familiar  with,  and  here,  too,  the  melodeon  which  at 
rare  intervals  she  opened.  The  house  was  very  quiet;  not  a 
sound  came  up  from  below;  she  raised  the  lid  of  the  instru- 
ment, and  played  a  plaintive  prelude.  Echoes,  seven  or  eight 
years  old,  suddenly  fell  on  her  ears;  she  had  not  heard  one 
note  of  this  air  since  she  left  Dr.  Hartwell's  roof.  It  was  a 
favorite  song  of  his;  a  German  hymn  he  had  taught  her,  and 
now  after  seven  years  she  sang  it.  It  was  a  melancholy  air, 
and  as  her  trembling  voice  rolled  through  the  house,  she 
seemed  to  live  the  old  days  over  again.  But  the  words  died 
away  on  her  lips;  she  had  overestimated  her  strength;  she 
could  not  sing  it.  The  marble  images  around  her,  like  ghosts 
of  the  past,  looked  mutely  down  at  her  grief.  She  could  not 
weep;  her  eyes  were  dry,  and  there  was  an  intolerable  weight 
on  her  heart.  Just  before  her  stood  the  Niobe,  rigid  and 
woful;  she  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and  drooped  her  face 
on  the  melodeon.  Gloom  and  despair  crouched  at  her  side, 
their  gaunt  -hands  tugging  at  the  anchor  of  hope.  The  wind 
rose  and  howled  round  the  corners  of  the  house;  how  fierce 
it  might  be  on  trackless  seas,  driving  lonely  barks  down  to 
ruin,  and  strewing  the  main  with  ghastly,  upturned  faces. 
She  shuddered  and  groaned.  It  was  a  dark  hour  of  trial,  and 
she  struggled  desperately  with  the  phantoms  that  clustered 
about  her.  Then  there  came  other  sounds:  Charon's  shrill, 
frantic  bark  and  whine  of  delight.  For  years  she  had  not 
heard  that  peculiar  bark,  and  started  up  in  wonder.  On  the 
threshold  stood  a  tall  form,  with  a  straw  hat  drawn  down 
over  the  features,  but  Charon's  paws  were  on  the  shoulders, 
and  his  whine  of  delight  ceased  not.  He  fell  down  at  his 
master's  feet  and  caressed  them.  Beulah  looked  an  instant, 
and  sprang  into  the  doorway,  holding  out  her  arms,  with  a 
wild,  joyful  cry: 

"  Come  at  last!  Oh,  thank  God!  Come  at  last!  "  Her  face 
was  radiant,  her  eyes  burned,  her  glowing  lips  parted. 

Leaning  against  the  door,  with  his  arms  crossed  over  his 
broad  chest,  Dr.  Hartwell  stood,  silently  regarding  her.  She 
came  close  to  him,  and  her  extended  arms  trembled,,  still  he 
did  not  move,  did  not  speak. 

"  Oh,  I  knew  you  would  come ;  and,  thank  God,  now  you  are 
here.  Come  home  at  last ! " 

She  looked  up  at  him  so  eagerly;  but  he  said  nothing.  She 
stood  an  instant  irresolute,  then  threw  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  and  laid  her  head  on  his  bosom,  clinging  closely  to  him. 
He  did  not  return  the  embrace,  but  looked  down  at  the  beam- 
ing face,  and  sighed ;  then  he  put  his  hand  softly  on  her  head,, 
and  smoothed  the  rippling  hair.  A  brilliant  smile  broke  over 
her  features,  as  she  felt  the  remembered  touch  of  his  fingers 


174  BEULAH. 

on  her  forehead,  and  she  repeated  in  the  low  tones  of  deep  glad- 
ness: 

"I  knew  you  would  come;  oh,  sir,  I  knew  you  would  come 
back  to  me !  " 

"  How  did  you  know  it,  child  ? "  he  said,  for  the  first  time. 

Her  heart  leaped  wildly  at  the  sound  of  the  loved  voice  she 
had  so  longed  to  hear,  and  she  answered,  tremblingly: 

"  Because  for  weary  years  I  have  prayed  for  your  return. 
Oh,  only  God  knows  how  fervently  I  prayed;  and  He  has 
heard  me." 

She  felt  his  strong  frame  quiver;  he  folded  his  arms  about 
her,  clasped  her  to  his  heart  with  a  force  that  almost  suffocated 
her,  and  bending  his  head,  kissed  her  passionately.  Suddenly 
his  arms  relaxed  their  clasp;  holding  her  off,  he  looked  at  her 
keenly,  and  said: 

"  Beulah  Benton,  do  you  belong  to  the  tyrant  Ambition,  or 
do  you  belong  to  that  tyrant,  Guy  Hartwell?  Quick,  child, 
decide." 

"  I  have  decided,"  said  she.  Her  cheeks  burned-;  her  lashes 
drooped. 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  if  I  am  to  have  a  tyrant,  I  believe  I  prefer  belonging 
to  you ! " 

He  frowned.     She  smiled  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Beulah,  I  don't  want  a  grateful  wife.  Do  you  under- 
stand me? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Beulah,  do  you  cling  to  me  because  you  love  me?  or  be- 
cause you  pity  me?  or  because  you  are  grateful  to  me  for  past 
love  and  kindness  ?  Answer  me,  Beulah." 

"  Because  you  are  my  all." 

"  How  long  have  I  been  your  all  ? " 

"  Oh,  longer  than  I  knew  myself ! "  was  the  evasive  reply. 

He  tried  to  look  at  her,  but  she  pressed  her  face  close  to 
his  shoulder,  and  would  not  suffer  it. 

"Beulah!" 

"  Well,  sir." 

"  You  have  changed  in  many  things,  since  we  parted,  nearly 
six  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  thank  God,  I  am  changed.  My  infidelity  was  a 
source  of  many  sorrows;  but  the  clouds  have  passed  from  my 
mind ;  I  have  found  the  truth  in  Holy  Writ."  Now  she  raised 
her  head,  and  looked  at  him  very  earnestly. 

"  Child,  does  your  faith  make  you  happy  ?  " 

"Yes,  the  universe  could  not  purchase  it,"  she  answered, 
solemnly. 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  He  put  both  hands  on  her  shoul- 
ders, and,  stooping  down,  kissed  her  brow. 


BEULAH.  175 

"  And  you  prayed  for  me,  Beulah  ? " 

"  Yes,  evening1  and  morning.  Prayed  that  you  might  be 
shielded  from  all  dangers,  and  brought  safely  home.  And  there 
was  one  other  thing  which  I  prayed  for  not  less  fervently  than 
for  your  return — that  God  would  melt  your  hard,  bitter  heart, 
and  give  you  a  knowledge  of  the  truth  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion. Oh,  sir,  I  thought  sometimes  that  possibly  you  might 
die  in  a  far-off  land,  and  then  I  should  see  you  no  more,  in 
time  or  eternity!  and  oh,  the  thought  nearly  drove  me  wild! 
My  guardian,  my  all,  let  me  not  have  prayed  in  vain."  She 
clasped  his  hand  in  hers,  and  looked  up  pleadingly  into  the 
loved  face;  and,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  saw  tears 
glistening  in  the  burning  eyes.  He  said  nothing,  however; 
took  her  face  in  his  hands,  and  scanned  it  earnestly,  as  if 
reading  all  that  had  passed  during  his  long  absence.  Pres- 
ently he  asked: 

"  So  you  would  not  marry  Lindsay,  and  go  to  Congress  ? 
Why  not?" 

"  Who  told  you  anything-  about  him  ?  " 

"No  matter.     Why  did  not  you  marry  him?" 

"  Because  I  did  not  love  him." 

"He  is  a  noble-hearted,  generous  man." 

"  Yes,  very ;  I  do  not  know  his  superior." 

"What?" 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,"  said  she,  firmly. 

He  smiled,  one  of  his  genial,  irresistible  smiles;  and  she 
smiled  also,  despite  herself.  "  Give  me  your  hand,  Beulah  ? " 

She  did  so  very  quietly. 

"There^is  it  mine?"  i 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  you  want  it." 

"  And  may  I  claim  it  as  soon  as  I  choose  ? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

She  had  never  seen  him  look  as  he  did  then.  His  face 
kindled,  as  if  in  a  broad  flash  of  light;  the  eyes  dazzled  her, 
and  she  turned  her  face  away,  as  he  drew  her  once  more  to 
his  bosom,  and  exclaimed: 

"  At  last,  then,  after  years  of  sorrow,  and  pain,  and  bitter- 
ness, I  shall  be  happy  in  my  own  home;  shall  have  a  wife,  a 
companion,  who  loves  me  for  myself  alone.  Ah,  Beulah,  my 
idol,  I  will  make  you  happy ! " 

The  rain  fell  heavily,  and  it  grew  dark,  for  the  night  came 
rapidly  down.  There  was  a  furious  ringing  of  the  library  bell, 
the  doctor  had  come  home,  and,  as  usual,  wanted  half-a-dozen 
things  at  once. 

"  Have  you  seen  Dr.  Asbury  ?  " 

"No.  I  came  directly  to  the  house;  saw  no  one  as  I  en- 
tered; and  hearing  the  melodeon,  followed  the  sound." 

"What  a  joyful  surprise  it  will  be  to  him?"  said  Beulah, 


176  BEULAH. 

closing  the  window,  and  locking  the  melodeon.  She  led  the 
way  down  the  steps,  followed  by  her  guardian  and  Charon. 

"Suppose  you  wait  a  while  in  the  music-room?  It  adjoins 
the  library,  and  you  can  see  and  hear,  without  being  seen," 
suggested  she,  with  her  hand  on  the  bolt  of  the  door.  He 
assented,  and  stood  near  the  threshold  which  connected  the 
rooms,  while  Beulah  went  into  the  library.  The  gas  burned 
brightly,  and  the  doctor  sat  leaning  far  back  in  his  armchair, 
with  his  feet  on  an  ottoman.  His  wife  stood  near  him,  strok- 
ing the  gray  hair  from  his  furrowed  brow. 

"Alice,  I  wish,  dear,  you  would  get  me  an  iced  lemonade, 
will  you  ? " 

"  Let  me  make  it  for  you,"  said  Beulah,  coming  forward. 

"  Come  here,  child !  What  ails  you  ?  Why,  bless  my  soul, 
Beulah,  what  is  the  matter?  I  never  saw  the  blood  in  your 
face  before;  and  your  great,  solemn  eyes  seem  to  be  dancing 
a  jig.  What  ails  you,  child?"  He  grasped  her  hands  eagerly. 

" Nothing  ails  me!  I  am  well " 

"I  know  better!  Has  Charon  gone  made  and  bit  you? 
Oho!  by  all  the  dead  gods  of  Greece,  Guy  has  come  home! 
Where-  is  he  ?  Where  is  he  ?  " 

He  sprang  up,  nearly  knocking  his  wife  down,  and  looked 
around  the  room.  Dr.  Hartwell  emerged  from  the  music-room 
and  advanced  to  meet  him. 

"Oh,  Guy!     You  heathen!  you  Philistine!  you  prodigal!" 

He  bounded  over  a  chair,  and  locked  his  arms  round  the  tall 
form,  while  his  gray  head  dropped  on  his  friend's  shoulder. 
Beulah  stole  out  quickly,  and,  in  the  solitude  of  her  own  room, 
fell  on  her  knees,  and  returned  thanks  to  the  God  who  hears 
and  answers  prayers. 


CHAPTEE  XXXIV. 

IT  was  a  sparkling  August  morning — one  of  those  rare  days, 
when  all  nature  seems  jubilant.  The  waters  of  the  bay  glit- 
tered like  a  sheet  of  molten  silver;  the  soft  southern  breeze 
sang  through  the  treetops,  and  the  cloudless  sky  wore  that 
deep  shade  of  pure  blue,  which  is  nowhere  so  beautiful  as  in 
our  sunny  South.  Clad  in  a  dress  of  spotless  white,  with  her 
luxuriant  hair  braided,  and  twined  with  white  flowers,  Beu- 
lah stood  beside  her  window,  looking  out  into  the  street  below. 
Her  hands  were  clasped  tightly  over  her  heart,  and  on  one 
slender  finger  blazed  a  costly  diamond,  the  seal  of  her  be- 
trothal. She  was  very  pale;  now  and  then  her  lips  quivered, 
and  her  lashes  were  wet  with  tears.  Yet  this  was  her  mar- 
riage day.  She  had  just  risen  from  her  knees,  and  her  coun- 
tenance told  of  a  troubled  heart.  She  loved  her  guardian 


BEULAH.  177 

above  everything  else;  knew  that,  separated  from  him,  life 
would  be  a  dreary  blank  to  her;  yet,  much  as  she  loved  him, 
she  could  not  divest  herself  of  a  species  of  fear,  of  dread. 
The  thought  of  being  his  wife  filled  her  with  vague  apprehen- 
sion. He  had  hastened  the  marriage;  the  old  place  had  been 
thoroughly  repaired  and  refurnished,  and  this  morning  she 
would  go  home  a  wife.  She  clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes; 
the  future  looked  fearful.  She  knew  the  passionate,  exacting 
nature  of  the  man  with  whose  destiny  she  was  about  to  link 
her  own,  and  she  shrank  back  as  the  image  of  Creola  rose  be- 
fore her.  The  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Asbury  entered,  accom- 
panied by  Dr.  Hartwell.  The  orphan  looked  up,  and  leaned 
heavily  against  the  window.  Mrs.  Asbury  broke  the  silence. 

"  They  are  waiting  for  you,  my  dear.  The  minister  came 
some  moments  ago.  The  clock  has  struck  ten." 

She  handed  her  a  pair  of  gloves  from  the  table,  and  stood 
in  the  door,  waiting  for  her.  Beulah  drew  them  on,  and  then, 
with  a  long  breath,  glanced  at  Dr.  Hartwell.  He  looked  rest- 
less, and  she  thought  sterner,  than  she  had  seen  him  since 
his  return.  He  .was  very  pale  and  his  lips  were  compressed 
firmly. 

"  You  look  frightened,  Beulah.  You  tremble,"  said  he 
drawing  her  arm  through  his,  and  fixing  his  eyes  searchingly 
on  her  face. 

"  Yes.  Oh,  yes.  I  believe  I  am  frightened,"  she  answered, 
with  a  constrained  smile. 

She  saw  his  brow  darken,  and  his  cheek  flush,  but  he  said  no 
more,  and  led  her  down  to  the  parlor,  where  the  members  of 
the  family  were  assembled.  Claudia  and  Eugene  were  also 
present.  The  minister  met  them  in  the  center  of  the  room; 
and  there,  in  the  solemn  hush,  a  few  questions  were  answered, 
a  plain  band  of  gold  encircled  her  finger,  and  the  deep  tones 
of  the  clergyman  pronounced  her  Guy  Hartwell's  wife.  Eu- 
gene took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  tenderly,  whispering: 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  sister  and  friend !  I  sincerely  hope 
that  your  married  life  will  prove  happier  than  mine.". 

Their  congratulations  wearied  her,  and  she  was  glad  when 
the  carriage  came  to  bear  her  away.  Bidding  adieu  to  her 
friends,  she  was  handed  into  the  carriage,  and  Dr.  Hartwell 
took  his  seat  beside  her.  The  ride  was  short;  neither  spoke, 
and  when  the  door  was  opened,  and  she  entered  the  well- 
remembered  house,  she  would  gladly  have  retreated  to  the 
greenhouse,  and  sought  solitude  to  collect  her  thoughts ;  but 
a  hand  caught  hers,  and  she  found  herself  seated  on  a  sofa 
in  the  study.  She  felt  that  a  pair  of  eyes  were  riveted  on 
her  face,  and  suddenly  the  blood  surged  into  her  white  cheeks. 
Her  hand  lay  clasped  in  his,  and  her  head  drooped  lower,  to 
avoid  his  searching  gaze. 


178  BEULAH. 

"  Oh,  Beulah !  my  wife !  why  are  you  afraid  of  me  ? " 

The  low,  musical  tones  caused  her  heart  to  thrill  strangely; 
she  made  a  great  effort,  and  lifted  her  head.  She  saw  the 
expression  of  sorrow  that  clouded  his  face;  saw  his  white  brow 
wrinkle;  and  as  her  eye  fell  on  the  silver  threads  scattered 
through  his  brown  hair,  there  came  an  instant  revolution  of 
feeling;  fear  vanished;  love  reigned  supreme.  She  threw  her 
arms  up  about  his  neck,  and  exclaimed: 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  you  now.  May  God  bless  my  guardian ! 
my  husband !  " 

Eeader,  marriage  is  not  the  end  of  life;  it  is  but  the  begin- 
ning of  a  new  course  of  duties;  but  I  cannot  now  follow 
Beulah.  Henceforth  her  history  is  bound  up  with  another's. 
To  save  her  husband  from  his  unbelief  is  the  labor  of  future 
years.  She  had  learned  to  suffer,  and  to  bear  patiently;  and 
though  her  path  looks  sunny,  and  her  heart  throbs  with 
happy  hopes,  this  one  shadow  lurks  over  her  home  and  dims 
her  joys.  Weeks  and  months  glided  swiftly  on.  Dr.  Hart- 
well's  face  lost  its  stern  rigidity,  and  his  smile  became  con- 
stantly genial.  His  wife  was  his  idol;  day  by  day  his  love 
for  her  seemed  more  completely  to  revolutionize  his  nature. 
His  cynicism  melted  insensibly  away;  his  lips  forgot  their 
iron  expression;  now  and  then  his  long-forgotten  laugh  rang1 
through  the  house.  Beulah  was  conscious  of  the  power  she 
wielded,  and  trembled  lest  she  fail  to  employ  it  properly.  One 
Sabbath  afternoon  she  sat  in  her  room,  with  her  cheek  on  her 
hand,  absorbed  in  earnest  thought.  Her  little  Bible  lay  on 
her  lap,  and  she  was  pondering  the  text  she  had  heard  that 
morning.'  Charon  came  and  nestled  his  huge  head  against 
her.  Presently  she  heard  the  quick  tramp  of  hoofs  and  whir 
of  wheels;  and  soon  after,  her  husband  entered  and  sat  down 
beside  her. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?  "  said  he,  passing  his  hand  over 
her  head,  carelessly. 

Thinking  of  my  life — of  the  bygone  years  of  struggle." 

"  They  are  past,  and  can  trouble  you  no  more.  '  Let  the 
dead  past  bury  its  dead ! ' ' 

"  No,  my  past  can  never  die.  I  ponder  it  often,  and  it  does 
me  good;  strengthens  me,  by  keeping  me  humble.  I  was  just 
thinking  of  the  dreary,  desolate  days  and  nights  I  passed, 
searching  for  a  true  philosophy,  and  going  further  astray  with 
every  effort.  I  was  so  proud  of  my  intellect;  put  so  much 
faith  in  my  own  powers;  it  was  no  wonder  I  was  so  benighted." 

"  Where  is  your  old  worship  of  genius  ? "  asked  her  husband, 
watching  her  curiously. 

"  I  have  not  lost  it  all.  I  hope  I  never  shall.  Human  genius 
has  accomplished  a  vast  deal  for  man's  temporal  existence. 
The  physical  sciences  have  been  wheeled  forward  in  the  march 


BEULAH.  179 

of  mind,  and  man's  earthly  path  gemmed  with  all  that  a 
merely  sensual  nature  could  desire.  But  looking  aside  from 
these  channels,  what  has  it  effected  for  philosophy,  that  great 
burden,  which  constantly  recalls  the  fabled  labors  of  Sisyphus 
and  the  Danaides?  Since  the  rising  of  Bethlehem's  star,  in 
the  cloudy  sky  of  polytheism,  what  has  human  genius  dis- 
covered of  God,  eternity,  destiny?  Metaphysicians  build  gor- 
geous cloud  palaces,  but  the  soul  cannot  dwell  in  their  cold, 
misty  atmosphere.  Antiquarians  wrangle  and  write;  Egypt's 
moldering  monuments  are  raked  from  their  desert  graves,  and 
made  the  theme  of  scientific  debate;  but  has  all  this  learned 
disputation  contributed  one  iota  to  clear  the  thorny  way  of 
strict  morality?  Put  the  Bible  out  of  sight,  and  how  much 
will  human  intellect  discover  concerning  our  origin — our  ulti- 
mate destiny?  In  the  morning  of  time,  sages  handled  these 
vital  questions,  and  died,  not  one  step  nearer  the  truth  than 
when  they  began.  Now,  our  philosophers  struggle,  earnestly 
and  honestly,  to  make  plain  the  same  inscrutable  mysteries. 
Yes,  blot  out  the  records  of  Moses,  and  we  would  grope  in  star- 
less night;  for  notwithstanding  the  many  priceless  blessings  it 
has  discovered  for  man,  the  torch  of  science  will  never  pierce  or 
illumine  the  recesses  over  which  Almighty  God  has  hung  his 
veil.  Here  we  see,  indeed,  as  'through  a  glass,  darkly.'  Yet 
I  believe  the  day  is  already  dawning  when  scientific  data  will 
not  only  cease  to  be  antagonistic  to  scriptural  accounts,  but 
will  deepen  the  impress  of  Divinity  on  the  pages  of  holy  writ; 
when  *  the  torch  shall  be  taken  out  of  the  hand  of  the  infidel, 
and  set  to  burn  in  the  temple  of  the  living  God ' ;  when  Science 
and  Religion  shall  link  hands.  I  revere  the  lonely  thinkers 
to  whom  the  world  is  indebted  for  its  great  inventions.  I 
honor  the  tireless  laborers  who  toil  in  laboratories;  who  sweep 
midnight  skies,  in  search  of  new  worlds;  who  upheave  prime- 
val rocks,  hunting  for  footsteps  of  Deity;  and  I  believe  that 
every  scientific -fact  will  ultimately  prove  but  another  lamp 
planted  along  the  path  which  leads  to  a  knowledge  of  Jehovah ! 
Ah !  it  is  indeed  peculiarly  the  duty  of  Christians  '  to  watch, 
with  reverence  and  joy,  the  unveiling  of  the  august  brow  of 
Nature  by  the  hand  of  Science,  and  to  be  ready  to  call  man- 
kind to  a  worship  ever  new ! '  Human  thought  subserves  many 
useful,  nay,  noble  ends;  the  Creator  gave  it  as  a  powerful 
instrument  to  improve  man's  temporal  condition;  but  oh,  sir, 
I  speak  for  what  I  know  when  I  say:  alas,  for  that  soul  who 
forsakes  the  divine  ark,  and  embarks  on  the  gilded  toys  of 
man's  invention,  hoping  to  breast  the  billows  of  life,  and  be 
anchored  safely  in  the  harbor  of  eternal  rest!  The  heathens, 
'having  no  law,  are  a  law  unto  themselves';  but  for  such  as 
deliberately  reject  the  given  light,  only  bitterness  remains.  I 
know  it;  for  I,  too,  once  groped,  wailing  for  help." 


180  BEULAH. 

"Your  religion  is  full  of  mystery,"  said  her  husband, 
gravely. 

"  Yes,  of  divine  mystery.  Truly,  '  a  God  comprehended  is 
no  God  at  all ! '  Christianity  is  clear  as  to  rules  of  life  and 
duty.  There  is  no  mystery  left  about  the  directions  to  man; 
yet  there  is  a  divine  mystery  infolding  it,  which  tells  of  its 
divine  origin,  and  promises  a  fuller  revelation  when  man  is 
fitted  to  receive  it.  If  it  were  not  so,  we  would  call  it  man's 
invention.  You  turn  from  Revelation  because  it  contains 
some  things  you  cannot  comprehend;  yet  you  plunge  into  a 
deeper,  darker  mystery  when  you  embrace  the  theory  of  an 
eternal  self -exist  ing  universe,  having  no  intelligent  creator,  yet 
constantly  creating  intelligent  beings.  Sir,  can  you  under- 
stand how  matter  creates  mind  ? " 

She  had  laid  her  Bible  on  his  knee;  her  folded  hands  rested 
upon  it,  and  her  gray  eyes,  clear  and  earnest,  looked  up  rever- 
ently into  her  husband's  noble  face.  His  soft  hand  wandered 
over  her  head,  and  he  seemed  pondering  her  words. 

May  God  aid  the  wife  in  her  holy  work  of  love. 


THE  END. 


THE  BEST   OF  THE 

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